


Blind My Eyes, Sew Them Shut

by greenaleydis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Neville Longbottom, Chases, Dark Magic, Death Eaters, Duelling, Escape, F/M, Forbidden Love, Good Draco Malfoy, HP: EWE, Hiding, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, Love/Hate, On the Run, Original Character(s), Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Hermione Granger, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Powerful Hermione, Quests, Running Away, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2008-08-25
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-04-21 21:11:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 66,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14293548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenaleydis/pseuds/greenaleydis
Summary: After a close brush with the Death Eaters, Hermione awakens blinded and on the run with a familiar snarky Slytherin. In hiding, Hermione and Draco must find a way to survive - and somehow thwart a plot that could alter their very world.





	1. Darkness and Fear

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This was originally posted at ff.net, but I've received many requests to cross-post here. Enjoy!

[ ](https://imageshack.com/i/pnmIQHZPp)

_"I shut my eyes in order to see." - Paul_ _Gauguin_

* * *

 

She was being carried.

Who knew where, but she could feel wind on her skin, her limbs hanging, and the warm, living bind that held her weight. Were her eyes closed?

Hermione blinked. More darkness. Why was it so dark?

The realization hit her so hard she couldn't breathe.

She was blind, and being carried off by someone she didn't know.

Where was her wand? She tried to move her arms, but they wouldn't respond, as if they were held down by an un-liftable weight. The brunette witch tried again, fighting through her fatigue and desperately trying to command her limbs, but she couldn't summon the energy.

If she had her wand, she could be out of this predicament in two seconds! Even her wandless magic couldn't help her now, as she wasn't strong enough to use it; the time she needed the buggering stick of wood the most, she didn't have it.

"Just kill me," she rasped quietly, her throat burning. She tried to move again, but simply shivered.

"I'm not going to kill you, stupid."

Her breath caught. She'd know that voice anywhere.

Malfoy.

Despite the sliver of relief she felt, Hermione wrinkled her nose as a familiar sense of irritation settled over her, one that in the past only he could cause. His voice was so close to her face it was only feasible that he was actually carrying her. Her heartbeat quickened as she tried to gain control of her limbs again, feel where her legs were in relation to her hands. Could she stretch out suddenly so he would drop her?

"Stop moving," he whispered angrily.

"What's going on? What are you doing?!" She coughed and gasped, her throat feeling like she had swallowed sand. "What - "

"Shhh!"

Hermione's dark eyes filled with tears as she was overwhelmed with a sense of helplessness. The more she tried to breathe to calm her heart, the more the deep frustration and agony felt from years of dealing with him weighed down on her. As she let the fatigue engulfed her, the only sensation she could feel was the weirdly warm stretch of fabric under her side, moving back and forth.

* * *

_All she could do was run._

_She had no wand, no help, no Harry, no Ron, and they were gaining on her, throwing hexes all around her. Where was she? She didn't know this city very well. Her only concern was to put distance between herself and the dark shapes behind her._

_As she continued to run, she became aware of breathing above her, next to her, and warmth and cotton around her. The street faded slowly away as a voice pervaded her senses._

"Stop it. You're creeping me out," Draco snapped, his breath warm against her cheek. Hermione flinched against it, bile rising in her throat as she collapsed backwards onto her elbows. She was no longer running; she tried to move her legs, realizing immediately from the nausea that her perception of up and down had reversed.

She still couldn't see, no matter how many times she blinked.

"I don't think so."

Hermione's heart fell as she realized that she had not been running; her hands and feet were bound with wiry shoelaces. She fought them by rubbing her wrists together, but her muscles hurt too much for her to attempt to break free with any real conviction.

The dampness from the ground below her began seeping into her jean clad knees. She tried to shuffle on the gritty layers of dead foliage. "What's creeping you out?"

"Your bloody eyes. They're pitch black all around. Now shut it."

She must have looked like an insect. "Where - "

"I said  _shut it_ ," he spat, pushing her. She lost her balance and collapsed onto her stomach.

Her throat closed up as grainy mud mashed against her temple. "What's going on? Why are you doing this to me? Where are we?!"

" _Shut it!_ "

Of course he wouldn't tell her where she was - she must have been captured. Oh gods, it had happened; she was finished. It was only a matter of time before she was killed.

No. She couldn't think like that, not when there was still an opportunity to escape, not when she had only been captured a short time before. She breathed deeply, forcing her heart to calm its furious beating.

She cried out in surprise as her arm was yanked backwards and she was dragged across wet leaves.

"Stay here," her captor said, and she felt a rush of biting air as he got up and moved away from her.

Draco Malfoy looked outside of their shelter, catching his breath and grounding his nerves. He'd been hiding there for days, following the two men sent to capture her and waiting for them to strike. After running all the way through the many suburbs and then down a rural road, he needed to make sure that they had not been followed in any way, for there was not as much tree cover here as he would have liked for a hiding spot. In the distance, even through the trees, he could see the glittering lights of the outskirts of Edinburgh. And though he'd taken care of the blokes that were after her by hand (or fist,) he wasn't absolutely sure they were alone. Draco had no wand to defend them if more came.

And then what was to become of his pathetic scheme to smash - or marginally disrupt - the big plans that the Death Eaters had?

He shivered with fear, as he had done many times in the past few weeks, at the thought of being found by them. The consequences were unspeakable. Whatever they were planning was big, potentially world-altering, and he was the only one who could stop it, the only one who knew. He shook his head, his hair falling into his eyes, and concentrated on steadying his breathing for a few seconds.

He could hear Hermione Granger crying from here, and her hollow pain offended him. Had he not saved her? So he had gotten fresh with her, so he had no intention of being friendly. She'd understand, even thank him later. Draco rolled his eyes and made his way back to her. "Shut it," he muttered, plopping down against the remains of a cracked stone fence.

She immediately stopped and rubbed her eyes against her shoulder. "What are you doing with me? Why can't I see?!"

"Look here," he said vehemently, "if you don't be quiet, we could be found by them. So for  _once,_  I need you to just shut your trap and do what I say."

Hermione tried to look at him, see his face, but she could only see darkness. Who was after them? The Order? If that was the case, then she should scream as loud as she could and try to break free.

But no. The Order didn't even know that she was in trouble… the Order didn't really exist anymore. Besides, she was supposed to be on a short holiday right now.

Who was he talking about?

Hermione shook her head, feeling her ruined shirt shift stiffly around her. Her clothes - a casual blue shirt and pair of jeans - were soiled through with sweat, dirt, water, and mud, and her hair had probably taken the worse of all four things. She could feel a cold itch on her scalp that she couldn't scratch and a rip in her sleeve that was letting dirt in underneath.

She choked up again, thinking of how she must look. She knew that Malfoy would be even more inclined to treat her like dirt now that she looked like it.

* * *

Though his master's back was turned to him, he could still feel her cold glare. He shuffled his feet, waiting for her reaction, waiting for her wrath to come down on him. He hadn't said a word to her yet, but he knew that she liked to operate without words. His master preferred to go and retrieve the information she needed from her subjects' brains, not their mouths.

Images from the night floated under his vision, and he tried in vain to repress them. The mudblood's back, running, turning corners, her brown hair a tangled fury behind her, spells flying all around her. As a black spell fringed with blue hit her on the back of the head, he'd peered around her to see the Malfoy boy, glaring.

He was shaking now, the memories becoming choppier as he felt his master's anger, her urgency to know how it ended. There was the Granger girl's eyes, staring blankly, inky black like an animal; his mate's twisting neck and the splintering sounds of bone; searing pain in his back and legs; Malfoy's retreating form, her legs hanging freely to his right, her head to his left...

And then there was nothing.

He came back into consciousness, his eyes settling on the skin of his master's luxuriously clad and creamy white shoulders. He dared not let his eyes linger for more than a moment.

"What happened next?" she asked quietly, her voice flat and crisp. He cringed and tried to hide what he did not want to say. It was no use.

"Define 'disappeared.'" Her hand clenched around her glass.

* * *

At first, Hermione could not figure out why he was carrying her - surely it was tiring him out, and surely he did not like the idea of touching a muggleborn, let alone carrying one. But when he'd set her down to pee, she understood.

He had no choice.

They were still in the forests, and the ground was covered with thick mud and fallen branches. Hermione was wearing sandals, brand new ones, that were completely ruined at this point, but she hadn't regained enough strength to hike. It was early summer, so the air was fresh around her, and it had definitely rained recently enough to keep the ground moist. Of course he still could have had her walk by herself, but he must have been trying to make good time - helping her pick through the forest would have taken three times as long, and when he carried her, it was much safer.

It also gave her an opportunity to think.

She tried not to think too much about the fact that he was indeed carrying her, because she really didn't know what to make of that. She should have felt disgusted, she realized, having him put his hands on her in such a way, but losing her eyesight and energy in her muscles had rearranged her priorities for the time being. Having gotten over the initial shock of her situation and fear of her captor, Hermione was now only concerned with figuring a way out of her situation that did not require the extra sense, and making the interim as painless as possible by not complaining.

Malfoy was not really talking to her except to tell her to shut it, which suited her just fine. She didn't really like the sound of his voice anyway.

She only spoke a few words to him to gather key information about their location, which she estimated to be somewhere north of Edinburgh. If they were traveling in the trees along the way, it would only be a matter of time before they entered the magical part of the forest, and perhaps came upon some magical villages some time after that. But until they found a village in that magical forest, no map could help him navigate. He would have to pick a direction and stick with it.

She'd also learned that they were travelling alone.

_Ugh. Blind and alone with Malfoy in the woods._

Being deprived of her eyesight gave him an enormous level of control over her - she couldn't see him and what he was doing, she couldn't defend herself properly if she needed to, and she still wasn't sure what was going on.

He would also need other supplies, like water, food, shelter, toilet breaks…

Hermione shook her head. She wasn't even really sure where he was taking her, or how long they would be in the woods. How could she think about something like using the toilet?

She would rather have had her eyesight to ensure her safety during tasks such as that, especially with him around. Now that she couldn't see him, she wondered where he was when he set her down and if he could possibly be close to her or watching her when she thought he was far away. One thing he  _could_  do was move very quietly when he wanted to.

The fact that he probably wasn't going to let her have things like bathing and food - which in her situation would be a luxury - made everything worse. She'd heard her share of horror stories about being captured; if she was going to escape, she'd have to stop fantasizing about him treating her like a human being.

Though she knew that they were alone in the forest, and he had apparently not departed on his journey with the other two men in tow, she could assume nothing. For all she knew they were running from Harry Potter himself. Perhaps Malfoy was expecting to meet up with the other blokes later? Ha, they should have known better than to leave only one person to watch after her. She was a loose bludger, wand or not.

If only she had her strength and her vision. The vision was gone... the strength would take a few days.

Hermione still had her other senses, which had on account of her blindness gotten reasonably better in a short amount of time. She tried to determine where they were based on the steps Malfoy took; he was avoiding roads, stopping in thickly covered areas, and only setting her down to rest his tired arms. She could also tell if it was daylight or moonlight by the sounds and the temperatures she heard and felt, though she had no inclination of the time.

A few hours later he set her down roughly against a tree and unbound her hands and feet. This was the first time he had done this in the 24 hours that he had been dragging her along. She ran her hands over bumpy roots, trying to figure out where they were now by identifying the type of tree she rested against. They could possibly have crossed over into the magical part of this forest - if they were walking in the direction that she suspected. Taking off her bounds was probably not necessary; her hands gave her a little more of an advantage that was never given to a prisoner.

"Aren't you tired of carrying me?" Hermione asked angrily into the darkness, pausing in her tree-feeling to rub some life into her abused wrists. She licked her lips, wondering if her lip balm was still in her front pocket.

"You have no idea," he retored, his unsteady breathing apparent. "Fucking pricks."

Besides being taken aback by his language, she was surprised that he placed the blame on the men that were chasing her and not herself - surely he wouldn't pass up an opportunity to pick at her? "Who are you running from?"

There was an entire minute of silence as he caught his breath somewhere off to her right. He then responded, "People we don't want to be captured by."

Oh,  _that_  was really clear. Now she could include the police and the Russian mafia. Hermione exhaled in frustration, realizing that she couldn't even tell what kind of tree she was leaning against. "Why should I believe  _you?_ "

"I don't need you to believe anything," he said, picking her up unexpectedly. She squeaked and squirmed, causing him to clamp her arms at her sides with his arms. "I just need to keep you from them." His voice was full of contempt, but she recognized a statement of protection when she heard one.

Whether or not she believed it was another story altogether.


	2. Traveling with Malfoy

_"He that is taken and put into prison or chains is not conquered, though overcome; for he is still an enemy." - Thomas Hobbes_

* * *

Her first toilet break was a spectacle, just as she'd predicted it to be. She had definitely put it off for as long as she could, but she was going to pee on him if he didn't let her go now.

"You're making this such a big deal. Just go!"

Hermione blinked in vain. "I can't see, and I won't go if you're watching me!"

Draco tossed up his hands and stormed away, knowing that they would argue more if he protested again. He didn't want their argument to get too explosive, lest it invite some Death Eaters to scope out the area. Not to mention that her voice was grating his nerves and he was barely resisting the urge to reach out and slap her.

She listened until she could barely make out the sound of him crunching through the fallen leaves. She put her back against a nearby tree. All she could do at this point was hope that he was decent enough to give her some privacy. She had issues with peeing outside, let alone while someone was holding her captive.

After she had silently pulled up her jeans, she listened. She couldn't hear him at all. How far away could she get if she ran now? She reached deep inside herself for some magic.

"Don't even think about it," a voice said, directly in front of her.

Tears came to her eyes involuntarily. Who knew if he'd been there the whole time or not? Shame squirmed in her skin. "I hate you," she mumbled, putting her face in her arms.

Instead of responding with any of the million things he could have said to that, he snorted, which said all of those things for him. He pulled her up by her arm.

As they traveled that day, Hermione fumed silently, cringing away from him as much as possible with every step he took through the foliage. Vulnerability was a difficult thing to digest. It squirmed in her stomach like a derisive little eel, mocking her sense of self-worth. She wanted nothing more than to squish it flat, hammer it down so she could concentrate on how to escape.

Magic boiled inside of her. She needed to incapacitate Malfoy long enough for her to run a safe distance away. How could she do that? There were so many things one could do with wandless magic - it was just a matter of using as little energy as possible to do as much damage as possible.

Without warning, she pushed a combination of energy and magic out of her pores, and they were on fire.

"Oh  _stop it,_ " he muttered tiredly, more irritated than angry. His arms turned ice cold, and she choked on a mouthful of steam. Her resolve faltered; now she was weaker, and all she had done was make him angry.

At least she knew that he could do wandless magic as well, which was good... sort of. No, it really wasn't. It just made it harder for her to understand that she probably wasn't going to get out of this. Hermione breathed in and out, noticing that his grip on her had tightened.

"Stop struggling so much. I'm trying to help you."

"You don't care about me," she spat, her voice shaking as she recovered from the embarrassment of having her attempt foiled so easily.

"You're right, I don't - let's be clear on that. Just don't get on my nerves and I won't hurt you." He lifted her up in his arms a little higher so their faces were level.

"Like I believe that. You hurt people just for the fuck of it."

She gasped as gravity took her to the forest floor and her temple bounced against a stone. As she groaned, he stormed away from her determinedly. She was definitely bleeding.

And now she was completely alone.

"Hey!" she yelled after him, her perception of up and down once again reversed.

He responded in the distance with something that sounded like, "Fuck off."

Her eyes welled up with tears again. She was alone and blind in a forest, and thus fresh meat to any enemy she might encounter. The fact that she was free, that Malfoy had left her there and she could now be in control of her own fate now seemed unimportant.

She pulled herself to her feet, and unexpectedly hit her head on something hard. She sobbed openly now, slowly moving around the branch and reaching out with her hands. She now had no idea from which direction they had come, so she couldn't go back, and she couldn't tell which direction Malfoy had gone off in. If she'd felt vulnerable before, it was nothing to how she felt now.

Hermione slowly picked her way through the trees and plants, the shaking of her shoulders having nothing to do with the breeze filtering through the trees. She couldn't use any wandless magic to fix her eyesight; it had been a dark spell that had taken it and it would take a lot more than some healing to get it back, if she ever would. She couldn't apparate without her wand, and the chances of her finding a portkey or even another person out here were very slim.

Her words seemed so frivolous now, and she cringed at her snotty comment. Why would he be put out by something like that anyway? He knew it to be true, and if he didn't, it was probably still not the first time he had heard it. But that didn't matter, as it was the fact that he'd left her there, in the mud, as soon as she'd said it that made it something to regret.

As much as she hated him, she had developed some kind of unreal dependency on his senses. He'd actually carried her, which was something she would have expected from someone like Harry or Ron, or a friendly acquaintance, not an enemy. That had not been entirely necessary. She knew that he was trying to move as quickly as possible, but why was her life worth it to him?

Was he trying to save himself? He should have just dropped her like a stone from the beginning - what was he doing with her anyway?  _She_  honestly would have dropped him if their roles had been switched.

Oh, but he  _had_  dropped her, literally, just now.

She concluded that he was on some kind of power trip. He knew that she needed him. She sucked in her breath and tried to shake away her tears. She wasn't weak, but she was acting like it. She needed to calm down, toughen up, and figure out how to fix this.

* * *

Draco paced, fuming. This whole ordeal was becoming more trouble than it was worth. He was doing a good thing by keeping her from them, and all she could do was complain and struggle. Would she rather he had left her to Krokesh and Rubinoff, letting them take her to Master?

 _She doesn't need to be alive anyway,_  a dark part of him rationalized.  _In fact, everything would work just fine if she were dead. Dead, she is no use to the Death Eaters either._  Neither the Death Eaters nor the Ministry of Magic had any way of knowing whether she was alive or dead while she was with him, so if he killed her or if he left her to die, no one would know...

Draco snorted at that thought, disgusted that he had considered it even for a moment. He wasn't going to kill her. Of course not.

Besides, if... no, when... he was inevitably captured by the Ministry, if he had killed her, there was no way to escape either death or a life sentence in Azkaban.

But if she inexplicably died, the Death Eaters could also claim responsibility for taking her and killing her if they wanted to. They already knew that she had not been captured, so they in turn had more information about the situation than anyone in Potter's outfit, who suspected nothing yet. It would probably take Potter a week to find out that she was gone, and then there would be scrambling on the Ministry's part. And while the Ministry bumbled around, trying to find the forces necessary to conduct a search, the Death Eaters would be planning, training, building their torture contraptions and Imperiousing key Ministry officials.

The other thing he could do was give her to Potter and his forces. He considered this. He did  _not_ want to be thrown in Azkaban for everything he'd done just to save her life however - she wasn't  _that_  special. And she'd see to it that he was given the worst possible sentence, no doubt; no one could deny her intelligence and connections for such things. He hated her for that. It was why they'd said that he wasn't valuable.

Though in reality, they'd felt doubt in his heart, and  _that_  was why he wasn't valuable. But the statement hurt all the same.

He then heard a small noise, like a wounded animal, somewhere off to his right. He turned his head and saw something vaguely human looking through the trees, at least fifty meters away.

Well, she apparently had a sense of direction.

He would have to figure out what he was going to do later. He didn't need her blundering around until she got captured and then divulging his part in it all so they could get him too. Screw that, he had enough things to worry about without the Death Eaters knowing he was not only skipping out on them, but traitorous scum as well. He picked his way over to her as quietly as he could, and waited until he was a few feet away before he stopped.

She stopped too, hearing the sudden crunch of foliage under his trainers, and looked blindly at a point over his shoulder. He got a proper look at her eyes, covered in glassy ink...  _she'd look like a demon if she didn't look so frightened._

Her head was bleeding, perhaps as a result of walking around blindly in the woods, or perhaps as a product of her fall. He felt nothing at this besides a slight queasy feeling - something about the smell of blood made him sick. She was dirty beyond belief, and her hair was full of twigs and leaves. She hadn't looked nearly as bad when he'd dropped her.

"I need a bath," she said, still looking over his shoulder.

Everything about her was suddenly bizarrely hilarious. Draco couldn't keep up his silent charade anymore - he burst into laughter.

Hermione's jaw dropped, beyond insulted, beyond humiliated. "Shut up, you maggot," she snapped, trying to run her hands through her hair.

Draco shook his head, still chuckling away. She may have been annoying and insufferable, but Hermione Granger definitely had some entertainment value.

As it was pointed out, she did need a bath. He had carried her when she was covered in a thin layer of filth, because he was as well, but now that she was a host for the viral plague, there was no way he was carrying her. They would be safe enough from those louts until nightfall, though it was nearing late afternoon. They both needed a wash.

"Alright, Granger,' he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. She jumped, and he cruelly laughed again.

It took him the remainder of the hour to find a water spot big enough for any kind of washing - this meant something larger than a dirty puddle. He eventually settled on a rocky ravine, knowing that it was likely the only one he would find that day. He'd had to guide her along for most of the way, so he got a taste firsthand of how much trouble  _not_  carrying her was going to be. It was a good thing he was strong - or maybe a good thing that she was so light. Did that girl eat?

Some spell that the two Death Eaters had used had sapped her strength away, so she was also moving about as fast as his dead grandmother.

"We're at water, Granger. Wash up." He crossed his arms. Her slowness really pissed him off. He knew that she was trying to play it tough, pretend like nothing was wrong - that was her personality. But he also knew that she was moments away from collapsing with the effort.

Hermione turned her head this way and that, not being able to see the water, but being able to hear it. She bent down slowly, her hands outstretched.

Her carefulness was even more painful to watch, but he knew that he had to be patient with her. He  _wanted_ to put his foot against her behind and push her, headfirst, into the water, but the last thing he wanted was for her to bang her head against a rock and have to be carried, soaking wet and unconscious, through the night.

She sighed when the frigid water engulfed her hands. She rubbed it onto her face with her rough fingers and blunt nails, scratching at the dried blood and cleaning out the little scrape on her forehead. Draco looked around before walking a bit further down and washing his own face.

Hermione turned herself over and lied down on her back, letting her hair rest in the water. The current pulled at it, removing the loose dirt, and she ran a hand through it now to dislodge the leaves, twigs, and sap that had also gotten in it. She had a gigantic knot in the back that she'd been feeling for hours and hours; it definitely needed to come out. As she leaned further into the water, the coldness crept up to her scalp and loosened her hair some more from its grimy bond.

She now knew that Malfoy had odd mood swings; one second he was storming off in a random direction and the next he was laughing at her helplessness... who could ever know what he was thinking.

Damn her eyes, she wanted to see the expression on his face, his body language, and basically everything she couldn't without them. In her condition, she had to rely on things like little huffs of annoyance and sighs of frustration to tell what he was thinking. However, being a Death Eater, he was skilled in deception. He could be using little things like that to lead her along when the reality of something could be completely different.

"Come on, this isn't a luxury spa. Time to go."

"But - "

She was cut off as Draco pulled her up, letting the cold water from her hair trail down her back.

She used the other hand to attempt to wring it out before he picked her up.

 _At least I am a little cleaner_ , she reasoned, letting him put his other arm under her legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	3. Not a Prisoner

_"The earth has music for those who listen." - William Shakespeare_

* * *

 

As Draco continued north, he found himself fascinated by the sudden changes in the forest as they crossed over into the hidden magical forest. Everything around them came to life; small animals scurried around in trees and colorful plants swayed in a non-existent breeze. They'd taught him about some of these things at Hogwarts, but now he was seeing them up close.

"Wow," he murmured, lightly stroking a bright red shrub, which quivered in response - a blood bush. He ran through the potion properties in his head, ignoring Hermione's restlessness.

She was able to hear the sounds of the magical forest and feel the difference in the air, but she could not fully appreciate it without her eyesight. She put her arm out, hoping to feel something, only to have Malfoy snap it back into place at her side. "There are man-eating plants all around here, Granger," he said conspiratorially.

Hermione huffed and narrowed her eyes. He was so unnecessarily awful to her, captive or not.

Draco collected quite a few useful things, including panacea sap, which was a somewhat rare sap that was used in healing. Draco set her down roughly to give himself more freedom with his arms. He took a huge leaf off of a nearby tree and began to scrape at the sticky sap.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked blindly, turning her head.

"I found a panacea tree," he said shortly.

Panacea trees were beautiful and useful. She reached out her hands. "Is it here?" she asked breathlessly, her fingers brushing against rough bark.

"No," Draco said, cupping the sticky sap and making a makeshift bag out of the leaf. He put this in his pocket, hoping it wouldn't run, and turned to Hermione, who was feeling up the tree with the large leaves. He bent down to her and took her arms in his hands, and guided them over to the correct tree.

It was a strange moment, him helping her to feel, through her palms, the world around her. There was silence as she rubbed her fingers over the smooth trunk of the tree, imagining it to look something like a birch tree. She inhaled sharply as her fingers touched something cold and sticky - panacea sap. She brought her sticky hand to the scrape on her forehead.

Draco watched her movements. There was something strangely beautiful in the sudden grace she had developed; the slowness that had driven him mad earlier now looked like a slow dance. He realized that he was watching a blind person learn to use her hands as eyes; he was helping her to understand and see her surroundings.

"You are not a prisoner. With them, you would be. Know that," he said blankly, still watching her. He knew what being a prisoner felt like firsthand, having only escaped from imprisonment by the Death Eaters a short time before.

Hermione nodded, taking a small, soft leaf between her fingers gently. "Prisoners don't get to wash. Prisoners don't get to know where they are. Prisoners don't receive help with anything."

Draco looked away from her now, eying the trees around him.

Hermione ran with the moment. "Why are you doing this?"

Draco looked back at her. Her eyes were open, fixed on a higher point on the tree that she couldn't see; her hands had stopped moving.

His original plan had only been to capture her and keep her out of his enemies' hands; he hadn't thought of what he would do once he had her. He had definitely not expected her to be blind and weak, and had definitely not expected to carry her during most of their escape.

Now that she was with him, he did not know what to do. They would be nearing some villages soon; neither of them had eaten or drank more than water in the past few days. With the change of his original plan - a change in the form of her glassy black eyes - it was impossible for them to maintain a prisoner-captor relationship.

He was going to have to help her constantly. And if they were going to make it through this, they needed to work together.

Draco sighed and leaned against the tree, stretching his arms and cracking his back. "What makes you think I'm going to tell you?"

Hermione turned her head in his direction for a moment, and then turned back to feeling up the panacea tree in front of her, her hopeful expression dissolving into an irritated one. "Who are we running from?"

If he told her, maybe she would be less inclined to try to escape. But would she believe him? "Death Eaters. They want to capture you."

"Why?"

Draco rolled his eyes - she had killed his divulgatory mood. "So many reasons, Granger. You're smart, why don't you think of them." He pulled her up, thinking of ways that he could carry her without using as much energy. She could always piggy-back, but who knew if she decided to strangle him?

"I hate you," she said, letting him scoop her up.

"I know," he responded, smirking.

* * *

Harry Potter ran his hands through his hair. "Are you sure?"

Neville nodded, rubbing the bruise on his arm. "They checked the entire city. And... they found this, along with the body of the Death Eater Krokesh." He took out a piece of a broken wand, the tip frayed like an old paintbrush. It had vines crawling up the side in an intricate design carved into the wood... Hermione's wand.

They looked at each other, not even responding as Ron stormed into the room. He looked positively rabid, his hair sitting like a straw hat on his head and his eyes so bloodshot they blended into the color of his reddened skin.

He looked from Harry to Neville, and then at the half-wand in Neville's hand. The strangest look came over his face.

"NO!"

Harry shook his head and went to his friend. "We don't know anything yet. We think she got away. What was the last spell Krokesh's wand used?"

Neville shuffled his feet and looked away. " _Noctulus._ "

Harry paled.

* * *

_She had never been so afraid, so helpless. Her entire body was suddenly on fire as a spell hit her in the back; she gasped and gripped at the corner of a rough wall to throw herself behind it. The spell was literally eating her remaining energy and strength; she could feel it all draining away, her limbs growing heavy, her muscles relaxing involuntarily. How long had she been running through endless suburbs, dodging bright and angry hexes, and putting at least a mile between herself and her street?_

_She wished she had stayed in London with her friends, because if they were with her now, this would not be happening. She'd still have a wand, and she'd have her two best friends at her side, helping her defeat the evil that was five steps behind her now. Instead of going to Edinburgh to see the sights, muggle and magical, she should have been with old Order members, or at least not have scoffed at their offering of protection over her trip._

_The dark wizards had managed to pick a perfect time to strike her, taking her wand with a quick Disarming Charm and smashing it under their feet._

_She was surprised that they did not simply kill her - every spell they used could have been considered mild compared to what she knew they were capable of. If they were not looking to kill her, or at least seriously injure her rather than just slow her down, they were looking to capture her, and she would rather they kill her in the street than take her prisoner._

_Let her body rot in the sewer. She would never risk selling out her friends._

_She held onto this shred of courage as she panted, and the streetlamp next to her began to darken._

Having not found a suitable place to sleep, they'd had to make do with a large hallowed out tree and leaves, both of which were cold and damp. Hermione was shivering like mad, the sounds of the night seeming sharper against the wind.

"Malfoy?" she whispered.

"What?" he snapped, causing her to jump.

Hermione closed her eyes. "I didn't know where you were."

Draco scoffed. "What does that matter?" He adjusted on the wet leaves. "You should want to get away from me anyway."

His depressed, somber tone surprised her, but Hermione shook her head, shifting her weight to get more comfortable. She  _did_  want to get away from him, but something about being alone in absolute darkness really got to her. It didn't matter that she hated him - she didn't want to be alone again until she could handle it. "It matters."

He looked over at her for a second, and then back up at the sky. "Some people actually like to sleep, mudblood."

Her heart dropped at the word, effectively paralyzing her into silence for a few seconds. "I was just thinking that we should work together," she started again.

"Yeah, because a girl with no wand and no eyesight could be a big help," he responded shortly.

She narrowed her eyes, knowing that his sarcasm was hiding something. "I still have my brain. I could help us."

"Just be quiet and sleep, alright?"

Hermione exhaled, trying not to be disappointed. The more control she had over the situation, the more chances she would have to get out of it alive. He was right, of course - she was more of a burden without a wand and without vision. But when they put their minds together, they could find a place to run, find a place to stay until it was safe to be out in the open again.

Unfortunately, this could only work if they could stand to be around each other enough to formulate a better plan.

"If you really want to keep me from the Death Eaters, you should just take me to the Order."

"We are both enemies of the Dark Lord's followers, Granger. But only I am an enemy of both sides. I'm not turning myself in just to save  _you_."

"Right, because you are too selfish for something like that."

"Turning myself in would be stupidity."

"Would you at least let me send an owl to Ron and Harry?"

Draco looked over at her incredulously. "And lead them over here? I don't think so."

Hermione piped down, defeated. How could he say she wasn't a prisoner when he wouldn't even listen to her? "I just want to let them know that I'm alive," she finally retorted.

"So what? So they don't storm the Death Eater's headquarters looking for you? As if they even knew where it was."

Her hands clenched into fists. What right did he have to make judgements like that? He had no idea how hard it was to get information about them, and to discern their plans out of almost nothing. "We're working on that."

He scoffed. "I know where it is. I escaped from there."

"Really?" A smirk crept into her irritated expression. "That's all you're good at then - escaping."

She gasped as something hard hit her in the leg.

"I'm not one of your little mates. I don't  _care_  if you're scared or if you want something. I'm on a mission, and that's all I care about. So if you don't want me to leave you here in the dark, you'd best shut your trap."

Hermione hugged her legs to her chest. Screw not being alone - she needed to get away from him; she needed support, not an idiot prat bent on making her life even more miserable than it needed to be. All he was showing her was that not even something like running from Voldemort's followers could unite them in a cause.

_As soon as we reach a village, I am running from him._


	4. Hiding in Plain Sight

_"I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself,  
_ _A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough  
_ _Without ever having felt sorry for itself."_   _\- D.H. Lawrence_

* * *

 

Hermione was silent for most of the next day, not feeling the need to speak to him. The trees were thinning out and there were open fields somewhere off to their right, the dull roar of farming equipment leading them presumably closer to a town.

"Stay right here," Draco muttered, setting Hermione down, "I'll be back in a second." He was carrying that tone again, that defeated, depressed and quiet tone.

As she heard him move away, Hermione felt the ground underneath her. It was grassy, not like the crunching and squishing of the woods behind them. Could she escape now? It depended on how long he was going to take. If she screamed for help, would anyone hear her? And if someone did hear her, were they going to be the right people?

She stood hastily and took off as fast as she could, trusting her remaining senses to help her avoid trees. After only half a minute, she crashed to the ground, having tripped over a fallen tree trunk. She cried silently.

_I'm never getting away from him._

"I told you to stay, stupid!" Draco fumed when he found her, tossing something heavy on the ground next to her. "I had to get something." He rummaged through the duffel bag, pulling out a small jar and a pair of sunglasses. "Put these on." He handed them to her.

"What do I need this for?" she asked, turning the new item over in her hands.

"We're staying the night in this village. I can't have you looking like an insect - it attracts attention." He unscrewed the jar and fished in his pocket for the panacea sap, putting it, leaf and all, into the jar and screwing on the lid.

Hermione snorted at his blind declaration of ownership over her appearance, but wiped her face nonetheless, trying to remove any dirt that was there. "What do you care if I look like a ghoul?"

"Well, I can't help your ugliness, can I, Granger? You'll get a proper shower soon." Hermione ignored his putdown, as she was getting used to doing already.

Walking to the village was not as conspicuous an affair as Draco had originally thought it would be. The sun was shining, which made Hermione's sunglasses not so out of place, and his tight grip on her arm kept her walking in the correct direction. He couldn't help that she had a way of looking a little bit too high up than was necessary, so some people could suspect that she was either extremely pompous or extremely blind. If those people suspected the latter, they did not comment.

Hopefully, the Death Eaters had no spies in the village on the lookout for them, because that would be bad news for both of them.

It was a little too early to check into an inn, but he did so anyway.

"Where are we?" she asked after he had opened the door to a room.

"We're in a town called Shandwick. I stayed here for a while before going to Edinburgh."

Hermione nodded, grateful that he had divulged this information.

"I call shower first. Don't even  _think_  about leaving."

He pushed her lightly into a chair, and she immediately snuggled into the cushions, ignoring the stiff fabric and the chair's groan of protest. Was he insane for actually putting them in a village, where anyone could see them or the Death Eaters could find them? He had stayed off the road before, but now he was putting them potentially in the view of their enemies.

"What are we doing here?" she asked, not trying particularly hard to make him hear her.

"Stop it with the questions," he called over the running water.

"Do you have money?"

"I said shut it."

He was known for his wealth, but she had no idea how much he had. He'd managed to put them in an inn, so he must have enough to throw away at something like that. She sincerely hoped that he was stupid enough to charge it directly to his account at Gringotts - the Ministry could know his location instantly, and he'd be caught in the blink of an eye.

Her blindness was an issue as well, and if there was a way to cure it, they needed to know that cure so she wasn't such a burden. Whether or not he would do that for her remained to be seen; there was still the possibility that he was one of the Death Eaters still and would have rather her be blind and wandless to make it easier for his bunch to detain her later.

She got up, letting her hands do the seeing for her. She was beginning to overcome the fear of the constant darkness she saw; she was now more frightened of her own movements, as she had not realized before how quick they were. She sometimes had to remind herself that she was still alive and that there was still a world going on around her; often times, everything felt like a movie with nothing but audio. It took all of her energy to piece together sounds and single out certain things.

"Your turn," he said flatly, tugging on her arm.

When he released her, she hugged her arms to her body, shrinking away from his presence as the water started up again. His eyes assessed her afterwards, and she could almost hear him bristle with anger at her sudden nervousness.

"Don't flatter yourself, Granger. That is the farthest thing from my mind right now," he said lowly.

Hermione ducked away and felt along the edge of the bathroom - cool, wet tiles lined the walls.

She rested her hands on them as the sound of the running shower became deafening, and she was pushed forward.

"I'll be around," he said shortly, recovering enough to shove a towel into her arms. "Take your time - you smell."

Hermione narrowed her eyes in his general direction and started to remove her shirt.

* * *

"We've got them."

His master did not move, nor did she give any inclination that she heard him. He continued uncertainly.

"They're staying in Shandwick at the town inn. Both of them."

"Arrange some forces then. I want them brought here within the hour."

He stared at her blankly, wondering at the brutality of this task. A ripple of pain shot through him.

" _Now_ , if you please."

* * *

On the other side, Ronald Weasley sat thinking, something that he had not wanted to do ever since he received the news. Her attempted kidnapping and now disappearance was devastating timing, considering that they had barely gotten into their relationship. They had just gotten their lives back on track. Now they had more trouble to deal with, more stress and pain to work through...

... and a very valuable member of their team was missing, someone the two of them could not live without.

"Where's Harry?" he asked his sister quietly. He needed to talk to his best friend more than ever.

Ginny shook her head, wiping drying tears from her face.

"He's gone village hopping."

Ron looked over at Kingsley, who had answered for his bawling sister. It was typical of them - Harry was always the first one to spring into action, while Ron sat dealing with his emotions. He nodded, hoping that Harry was finding something out. He could feel the itch that he got when the three of them went on some sort of adventure; it had been so long since they had gone sneaking around, puzzling things out, breaking the rules.

It was time.

* * *

Hermione felt her way over to the shower, her hands outstretched to feel the consistency of the air get thicker as she neared the hot water. She had discarded her jeans, shirt, and sandals on the floor, not caring enough to find a suitable surface to drape them over. She was too eager for her shower.

She got in, still wearing her underwear, and let the hot water burn through the grime and the dead skin. She relaxed her shoulders and turned around, feeling the water change directions and spray against her back.

The darkness that she saw constantly made everything around her exactly the same, and yet so completely different. She wondered at this, contemplating how everything around her was a large black hole, and yet was composed of all kinds of different textures, consistencies, and viscosities. She could feel changes in the very air that she would not have been able to feel otherwise; sensations like the inkling of clandestine eyes watching her became more acute and more recognizable. She could feel the air shift around her more, feel the magic in her skin reach out to test everything.

She felt around the shower now, looking for something to wash herself with. Her hands grazed something wrapped in paper, and she took up the bar of soap gleefully, ripping off the wrapper with shaking fingers. Oh, glorious cleanliness! She lathered her arms.

* * *

Draco thanked the storekeeper and left the shop, looking at his new wand. He gave a little flick and levitated a nearby rock.

They now had magic on their side. He put it in his pocket, walking back to the inn with his new items.

Once inside their room, he pulled out a pair of jeans, a casual green shirt, and a beige jacket, hoping all of these things fit Hermione - he had gotten them for her, as they didn't have time for cleaning and drying her old clothes. The bathroom door was open - he went inside without hesitation.

"Hey!" Hermione said, hearing him coming.

"I can't even see you. I'm just putting some clean clothes out."

Hermione stopped cowering in the corner of the shower. "You... what?"

"You're not deaf too, I hope. There are clean clothes right here. Just get dressed." He left with that.

Hermione took off her underwear and wrung it out, thinking about this. He'd actually gotten her clean clothes? What was he on about? Surely he did not want to waste his money - however abundant it was - on someone like her. He must have been doing it for appearances.

She stepped away from the water, not bothering to figure out how to turn it off, and felt around for the towel she had dumped on the floor. She dried herself, wondering what clothes he had gotten for her. Hopefully they were something practical.

Draco stopped organizing the bag as something entered his consciousness.

Oh no. Someone was trying to rummage around in his brain.

They were coming.

Draco threw everything on the bed into his bag and stormed into the bathroom, catching Hermione just as she buttoned up the pair of jeans he'd layed out for her.

"We have to leave, now," he said, ignoring her shriek and gathering up her clothes; her hands flew out to cover her bare chest, but he wasn't looking. He grabbed her by the arm and yanked her through the door, and then ran to grab some of the toiletries from the bathroom, leaving Hermione shivering and shirtless in the room.

"What - "

She was interrupted by an explosion behind her, and was promptly hit in the back of the head with a piece of wood, followed by a blast of air and a thousand tiny shards against her bare back. She whipped around to face the source, only to remember that her eyes were not shut.

" _Petrif -_ "

Draco burst back into the room, wrapped his arms around Hermione's waist, and disapparated.


	5. Disaster and Revenge

_"It is only blood that can wash away such an outrage; die or kill." - Pierre Corneille_

* * *

It was almost dusk, and they were moving once again, Hermione in his arms. He could tell she was cold but he could not pause to let her don a shirt or jacket. She instead hugged the bag to her chest.

"This is so bizarre," she whispered, closing her eyes and trying not to think.

She was half naked, being carried off by Draco Malfoy.

Draco said nothing as he dissapparated them again.

By nightfall, he slowed down; they'd gotten nearly to the northern tip of Scotland, and it was becoming harder to avoid steep mountains, roads, and towns, which they'd avoided by something like luck before. Draco was tired of carrying her - she was becoming heavier and heavier, and his arms, back, shoulders, and legs were burning. Finally, he set her down in a small alcove on the side of a rocky hill and collapsed on the rocks next to her, sliding down a bit but not seeming to notice.

Hermione immediately felt her way into the bag and pulled out a shirt. She struggled into it quickly, nearly ripping the seams in her haste.

"Malfoy?" she asked, turning her head in different directions.

"I'm here, barely," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

"You have a wand?"

He nodded, knowing that she couldn't see the gesture, and not caring at the moment.

"Hello?"

Did she have a death wish or something? " _Yes_. Leave me alone."

He had known that she was likely to be annoying, but he had figured he could combat that by being cold and unhelpful. There was now no denying her dependency on him - he was only used to caring for himself, having never needed to really care about or for anyone else. Hermione had become something like a child - incapable of doing a lot of things by herself and unable to let go of the person who provided the things that she couldn't.

He needed to find a way to make her a little more independent in her unfortunate situation. But before he did anything else, he needed to rest.

"Are they gone?"

"Yes, for now." He paused. "We need to leave the country."

Hermione was immediately skeptical. "What would that do? Where could we go? - "

"Norway is the closest thing right now, right across the water. From there, I'll figure something out."

"How are we getting - "

"Oh, I don't know, Granger. Why don't you think of something?" he snapped, grabbing the bag next to her and pulling it under his head. He was asleep within minutes.

* * *

_As she turned the corner, cold fear washed over her and she skidded to a halt, her lungs bursting._

_Draco Malfoy was right there, standing a few yards away... looking simply murderous. He was out for her blood, her dirty, filthy mud-blood... and from the look in his eyes, she knew that there was nothing she could do to stop him._

_As she swayed on the spot, losing hope, her throat burning, her legs quivering, and all her strength gone, she felt a spell hit her on the back of the head, and the world went dark. "I'm dead!" she whispered in surprise, before covering her mouth._

_The one thing that she needed, the one sense that could help her out of this situation had disappeared. Her now black eyes formed tears as she wrapped her arms around herself; the boy she knew from school with platinum hair and a cold heart was standing directly in front of her, heat radiating off his body._

_"Look out!" he yelled forcefully, attempting to move her aside to face the Death Eaters behind her. She whipped around and smacked into the wall._

Hermione sat up with a start, gasping; something hard had fallen on her. She felt around desperately, and sighed in relief and a twinge of irritation as she realized that Draco had dropped the duffel on her to wake her up.

Draco rubbed the back of his neck, knowing that between carrying Granger, running from Death Eaters, and arguing with her, he had managed to put himself under a lot of physical stress. If he was going to succeed in keeping her from the Death Eaters, it was very important that he was in impeccable physical condition. Unfortunately, Granger made this quite a bit harder, since she was still too weak to keep up with him and would likely stumble and run into trees if he wasn't watching where she was walking.

"Get up, you wimp," she said coarsely, shoving the duffel back at him. "I hurt all over too."

He shook his head. What he was experiencing was muscle soreness - in what seemed like every muscle in his body. "Do you think I care if  _you_  hurt? You aren't the one who has to carry a giant blind  _baby_  around."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Fine. Be seeing you!" She moved away from him. Draco was having none of that; Hermione had not gotten two steps away before his hand enclosed around her leg and she fell to the ground kicking. She managed to kick him in the neck, which was unbelievably painful, and he choked for a few seconds. He responded by tying her foot to a tree with the strap of the bag.

"Fucking-goddamned-urgh  _mudblood!_  As if I don't hurt enough!" he rasped.

"You shouldn't have done that to me!"

"I can do whatever I  _want_  to you. You're as blind as a rock, and you're in no position to be ordering me around."

"What a big man  _you_  are, picking on me when I'm blind!"

He scoffed. She was already starting to hide behind the defense of her lack of eyesight when it was convenient for her. "Don't even  _pretend_ to be defenseless, Granger. I know you've got the gears turning in your head. Remember that your thoughts are not safe around me."

This was just a threat of course; he couldn't actually go into her head without her realizing it, and wouldn't use legilimency or spiritual telepathy against her, even if he needed to. Fear of this, however, was a factor he needed to control her. If they separated, they had a better chance of getting caught than if they stayed together. He needed her to know that her escape opportunities would be very limited, and he would know when she was plotting.

Hermione piped down, stunned at the threat.

He looked around the area where they were, spotting a stick next to the tree she was tied to and snatching it up. A walking stick could help her - blind people usually carried sticks whether they had charms to help them avoid objects or not. The two of them did not have any charms at their disposal, nor did he know any spells that would help her. He couldn't perform a countercurse for the blindness curse the Death Eaters Krokesh and Rubinoff had used on her - a lot of the spells that he'd been taught as a Death Eater did not have countercurses, and he was not taught very many of the countercurses for the ones that did have them.

In the meantime, while his muscles healed, he needed something to do. Draco reached into the open bag and pulled out the jar of panacea sap, followed by the wand from his back pocket. He retrieved a pocket knife from his other pocket.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked quietly, getting comfortable - or as comfortable as she could with her foot bound the way it was.

"Shut it," he muttered, taking out a bottle of water and opening the lid. He coaxed some panacea sap into it. "It's a good thing I got food before I came back to the room. I was going to wait until later and get some sleep first."

"Food" was the only word Hermione heard out of that. "Where?" she said, feeling around for the bag.

Draco rolled his eyes. "You don't see me rushing after it, and I haven't eaten in days either - "

"Yeah, well you're used to it. I'm not."

Draco turned to look at her. "What is  _that_  supposed to mean?"

Hermione's face brightened as her hands enclosed around something that felt like bread. She tore into it. "Don't they starve you?"

"Who?" She wasn't making any sense now that she had food in her hands.

She gulped down what was in her mouth. "The Death Eaters. They starve you."

Draco didn't answer. Her statement had some truth; Death Eaters were trained to withstand the worst of conditions. Some of them were better at it than others - he happened to be better at it. Most of it was mind over matter - personal strength combined with physical strength. The new leadership of the Death Eaters had really whipped them into shape. As soon as that woman had taken over, the other side was doomed. While the leadership of the Dark Lord had made the Death Eaters accustomed to luxury, Master had immediately remedied that. She had laid out a new purpose immediately, setting them on rigorous training. The ones who couldn't sit with this rejoined their families and left the Death Eaters, though the ones who didn't get out immediately didn't get off so easy.

He shook up his new drink and took a sip - the sap made the water surprisingly sweet. He hoped it would speed up his healing process - he didn't know how panacea sap worked, but it surely wouldn't work as well or as quickly as phoenix tears, which were known to correct internal injuries almost instantly by ingestion.

After taking another sip, he took up the stick, tested out its durability, and began carving away the bark.

* * *

_Ron,_

_I found a lead. Someone destroyed a room at an inn in Shandwick - a room where a man with blond hair and a woman with curly brown hair were staying. The innkeeper's description of the woman sounded like Hermione, but I have no idea who the other guy was. He could possibly be the Death Eater called Angelface._

_We did not catch the Death Eaters that stormed the place, but the Auror Office has ordered some specialists over here, who will be questioning the innkeeper and having him confirm the identities of the room's occupants. Also, the article they told us about will be in tomorrow's_ Prophet _, along with this._

_-H_

* * *

Hermione took the hair tie from around her wrist and tied it around her new french braid. The braid was probably a mess, but she couldn't see it enough to fix it to perfection. She felt along her head, tucking in loose pieces of hair and tightening the end.

"I know how to get to Norway."

Draco didn't look up from his carving; he was making small, smooth cuts into the stick, carving off little oval-shaped chips.

"… Well, if you don't want to hear it - "

"Humor me," he muttered, still carving.

She had to push down the urge to strangle him before she could respond. Almost every word out of his mouth deepened her helpless irritation. She sighed angrily. "We should take a boat. A muggle one."

Draco rolled his eyes. "There's no way I'm getting in a boat manned by a muggle, Granger."

"Not like a rickety canoe, you dolt. I mean a real boat."

"I'm not getting in a boat sailed by a muggle. They don't know  _how_  to sail."

Hermione's cheeks reddened in anger. What kind of assumption was that? "Of course they do! They do it all the time, they've been doing it for centuries!"

"A boat is too slow."

"But there's no way the Death Eaters are going to get us if we are in the middle of the North Sea."

He shrugged, not willing to recognize that this made sense. "How are we getting a boat?"

"We hire a captain, of course."

Draco scoffed, and then blew on his work to get rid of the shavings. She made this sound easier than it was. "And what  _captain_  would take us to Norway?"

"Any captain that wants some money."

"I don't have piles of galleons at my disposal Granger. I have the money I drew out the last time I visited Gringotts, which was a month ago. That's it. Stop spending it for me - you're in no position to do that."

"How much do you have?"

"I don't know. Maybe fifty galleons."

That was enough to keep them alive for at least a month, if they kept living in the forests in Scotland. It was not, however, enough to get them on a boat to Norway and then lasting supplies while they were there.

"It's still a possibility," she said quietly after a minute.

"I'd rather swim," he muttered, tired of the sound of her voice. It was taking on that shrill quality it had when he'd known her back in school.

"If we had gone west, we could have gone to Ireland."

"There are too many cities to the west, too many places to be seen in."

"And there aren't to the north?"

Draco looked up at the sky and breathed in and out, forcing himself to calm down before he sent a nasty hex in her direction. Was complaining the only thing she knew how to do? "There are enough foresty areas to get lost in to the north. I don't know about the west. Don't you even say south - there are bunches of forests, but we'd be boxed in between Edinburgh and all the major cities down there like Liverpool, Newcastle, Manchester, London... that says enough."

"It would be easier to get lost in a big city."

"Not the ones in England. They've got every city webbed out with traitors and watchmen." This was an exaggeration - not even the Ministry had the power to do that. But the difference between the Death Eaters and the Ministry was that the Death Eaters were willing to break every law of fairness and morality to catch who they wanted.

Hermione sat back against her tree, playing with the end of her braid, feeling around for little knots and pulling off her split ends. "Are you still a Death Eater?"

" _Merlin_ , woman. Shut it. I'm not one of your mates."

"Any person would be mad to be mates with you."

"I'm warning you, Granger," he said without conviction. Keeping her in line was tiring. He went back to concentrating on the stick, noting that it was the only thing keeping him sane at the moment. Something about carving short slivers of wood off of a branch with a knife was calming - perhaps it was the knife part. It was good for controlling a temper.

"You didn't answer my question."

"I don't  _have_  to answer your question!"

"I would like an answer."

" _I would like you to go fuck yourself!_ "

Hermione promptly shut up. Her unintentional attempt to annoy him had definitely succeeded.

Draco's stress and muscle soreness wore off by later in the day, around the same time he had finished carving up the stick. Besides a slight twist at the top of it, it was fairly straight; he'd carved it all the way to the bottom, and it had gone from a dusty brown to a creamy off-white. It was a work of art that he was quite proud of, actually - it was a shame that he'd have to give it to her.

"Here," he put forth, shoving the end of it into her hands and untying her foot from the tree. Hermione ran her fingers over the new item, feeling the tiny little hills and valleys he'd made in it, making it smooth yet bumpy.

"It's beautiful," she murmured, despite not being able see it. She twirled it like a top.

"I know," he answered, reattaching the strap to his bag and fishing out some bread for himself. "When all this is over, I want it back." Who knew he'd discover something that he liked to do while he was a fugitive with Hermione Granger?

* * *

"I just thought of something."

Draco looked at the sky, and then over at Hermione, wondering what she was about to spew forth this time. He'd had more than enough of her ideas. "What is it now?"

"What about border security? They aren't just going to let us waltz into their country."

"We  _will_  get in. You speak of countries as if they are clubs guarded by dozens of bouncers."

_Isn't that exactly what they are?_  Hermione thought, then said, "I want to enter a country legally."

"We don't have time for that." Draco moved a stick that was in her path with his foot. "I need a map" he murmured to himself.

Hermione shook her head, letting the stick in her hands divide the foliage in front of her. "Why did you kidnap me?"

He knew it was only a matter of time before this question came up again and he would be in a position to answer it. She had asked him many times, but he had given her no details. "The Death Eaters have some big plan that involves you. I'm not sure what it is exactly, but I do know that by capturing you, getting information out of you, and then imperiousing you to destroy the Order of the Phoenix and the Department of International Magical Cooperation from the inside, they can kill so many goblins with one spell."

Hermione hated that expression. It was typical of a pureblood to use phrases like that. "What makes them think that they are getting information out of  _me?_ "

"Because  _everyone_ talks. Everyone. They will make you talk, whether it be through a liter of Veritaserum or legilimency, or the Cruciatus curse until you are paralyzed... you  _will_ talk. And they figure since you are so close to Potter, you would be in on all the big secrets and plans he would have. Also..." Draco moved a branch out of his way. "They want to discredit Potter and all muggleborns. Remember, Granger, nothing has changed yet. It will take a lot of time before the Death Eaters no longer have control of the Ministry and the wizarding world."

Hermione knew this - the  _Daily Prophet_  and the Death Eater controlled Ministry had deeply corrupted public opinion. She was the one working on that bit of the Ministry's shoddy "recovery" plan - she was to tactically address diversity in the Ministry and oversee the changing in the ideas of the magical community. Though she had no real authority over such things, she paid close attention to opinion articles, offhand conversations about magical happenings, and even the casual treatment of muggleborn wizards and witches. In the meantime, she was working at the Department of International Magical Cooperation, suggesting laws, making organizational changes, and writing reports based on observations from all over the world.

"What a disaster," she mumbled, stumbling.

They were very famished, very tired, and very dirty by the time they reached the next wizard village that looked quiet and innocent enough to supply in.

"I still think we'd be better off in a city," Hermione grumbled, letting him lead her a little forcefully down a sidewalk.

"There are only muggle towns past here, Granger," he said, looking around them with narrowed eyes. "The Death Eaters have their hands thoroughly entwined in those. They are least likely to have traitors in small villages like these."

"They found us last time," she retorted, turning her head in his direction and pushing the sunglasses up on her nose. It was overcast yet bright, so her sunglasses didn't seem out of place.

Draco shook his head as they went into a little shop, ignoring her quip. Since it was a wizard owned store, he didn't dare try to nick anything, but when they next hit a muggle city, he would be taking full advantage of the muggle lack of technology.

Once they'd left with some food, Hermione snacking on an apple, they continued walking. "You didn't answer my question."

The "we" in her statement, "we'd be better off" was bugging him. "So?"

Hermione ignored his cheekiness. "Why did you kidnap me?"

Draco looked around them again, noting the people on the street and looking for the familiar sensations of having his mind probed. "Revenge," he replied, looking forward.


	6. Toxic Tides

_"A friend is someone who gives you total freedom to be yourself." - Jim Morrison_

* * *

"I find it very difficult to believe that you sent  _seven men_  to capture them and they came back with nothing but splinters in their eyes. Have you lot learned  _nothing?_ "

Rubinoff looked at his feet. He was disappointing her again.

"What have we learned here?" She tilted his chin up with the tip of her wand.

He shook his head, desperately searching for something to say. He was shaking again.

"We have learned never to underestimate the enemy," she answered for him quietly. "I expect you to be looking for them. You can kill the Malfoy boy if he is too much trouble, but I want the mudblood brought back here  _alive and well_. I have business of my own to attend to in the meantime."

As much as he feared his master, he loved her as well, much more than the Dark Lord, because even though she ruled them, even though they listened to her every word and would give their lives at a flick of her finger, she was one of them. She did not sit back and let her servants take care of the work for her - she got right into the cause and worked just as hard as they did.

If she didn't, a lot of them would definitely have cause to be disgruntled.

She cared about every single one of them, even the lower ranking and newer forces. They knew that their lives were disposable, but she let them know that she would never let them go into a mission without being prepared enough to make it out alive. She was not that cruel.

Her cleverness had brought them together in such a short time. She was absolute gold.

* * *

Hermione had been missing for almost two weeks now.

Harry Potter looked at the two pictures in front of him, willing his heart to calm its racing. It was a smiling picture of Hermione, a book in her lap, a quill tucked behind one ear... and a tiny school portrait of Draco Malfoy, smile-less, heartless, cold.

The innkeeper had confirmed both. He'd described the relationship between them as "young lovers."

Harry cringed, wondering how Malfoy had imperioused Hermione into complying with  _that_  atrociousness.

The glossiness of the photo was rubbing off, and there were fingerprints all over it. He'd sat staring at it for quite a long time, twisting it in his fingers, removing the quill from behind her ear and watching the little picture laugh and put it back.

Why did these things always happen to them? He'd saved Malfoy's life. Certainly that was cause enough to leave them alone.

But nothing made sense.

Intelligence from the other side had told them that Malfoy was supposedly locked away for doubt in his loyalties until they could decide what to do with him. And then, the Death Eaters had been in uproar trying to locate him when he'd escaped.

And suddenly, he'd run off with Hermione Granger, leaving a dead Krokesh behind him with a broken neck - which implied that Malfoy was not working with them.

To top it off, there was a good chance that one of them - Malfoy or Hermione - was blind. And it was probably Hermione, considering the sunglasses that the innkeeper had described as well as the slight dizziness she seemed to possess. Nothing connected, as there were so many unanswered questions.

Why had Malfoy killed a Death Eater and then captured Hermione? What did he want with her? What did the Death Eaters want with her, if anything? Their new leadership - a woman with no name - was much better at keeping secrets than the Dark Lord had been. The Death Eaters had suddenly become impenetrable.

She'd dragon-whipped them into shape.

"I'll be fighting for you for the rest of my life," Harry whispered. "I'll never let them have you." The little Hermione in the photo suddenly became serious. She nodded.

* * *

When she wasn't having nightmares of that night, her dreams were more vivid than she had ever remembered. It seemed like they wanted to make up for her lack of vision and show her everything. By closing her eyes, she could see again.

She loathed the time when she would be sucked back into the darkness of being awake.

Unfortunately, Draco was a morning person. She had been one of those for the longest time... but now, nothing could convince her to rise from the contentedness of her dreams. She had always seen sleep as a waste of time - now it was her favorite time.

"My, you are lazy for such a bookworm," Draco said from above her. She opened one crusty eye to glare at his voice, and swatted the air in front of her.

"I'm over here," he said, now from behind her. "We need to do something about your stupid eyes."

Hermione sat up slowly, her good mood and good dream destroyed. "And what cosmetic spells would you know?"

"I don't  _need_  any cosmetic spells, if that's what you're saying... but I do know some."

Hermione rolled her eyes. He was a smirking prat down to his core, after all. No situation could change that.

"Besides, cosmetic spells can't mix with dark spells. Your eyes are stuck like that - I was talking about when we are walking around. You can't carry yourself like you are blind - it attracts attention."

"I can't help that."

Draco sat up on his bed, fishing his wand out of his pants. He kept it there because he knew it was the one place Hermione would rather swallow a blast-ended skrewt than touch voluntarily. Just in case she decided to get bold, he needed to keep track of that wand. He transfigured the drawer pull of the bedside table into a watch. "Just try to look straight ahead. Don't tilt your head up, because we aren't stopping to look at a cloud. Try to walk with purpose."

Hermione furrowed her brows. Was he actually giving her advice? And useful advice, at that?

Draco looked around the room, finally seeing a folded map of northern Scotland, magical parts included. The United Kingdom was a lot bigger than the muggles thought - it had the potential to be the size of Spain. How the wizarding world managed to fit all this land into the small island would be a mystery to any muggle - but after muggles and wizards could no longer coexist, the wizards had found a way to hide themselves.

Draco thought that it was a little shameful that such a great race of people were hiding away, but there was nothing he could do about it.

"And you said I couldn't get a map until we were out of wizard territory," he scoffed, opening it and looking for the nearest port city. "It looks like you were  _wrong_."

She  _hated_  that condescending tone. "Well, you couldn't get a map until we were out of the woods anyways. Where are we?"

Draco shrugged. "No idea. I have never gone this far north in Scotland before." It was amazing how one could live near a country for their entire lives and still not see it in its entirety, especially one who had money at their disposal that could be used for traveling. Hermione knew that he had probably been everywhere - China, Japan, India, America, Mexico... and all kinds tropical and luxurious destinations that she could only dream of visiting. That annoyed her. He had probably looked Mona Lisa dead in her eyes and had been bored.  _She_ could appreciate it.

"Which port city are we closest to?"

He shrugged again. "Bunches."

"Well, pick one then."

Draco shot her a look. "I'd  _appreciate_  your silence. This takes thought."

Hermione ran her hands over her braid, detecting frizz, and started to undo it. "We could go to the islands, getting off in Burwick - "

" _I'm_  the one with the bloody map,  _I'm_  the one with the eyesight, and  _I'm_  the one in charge. Bugger off for a bit."

 _If I was stronger, I could escape all of this_.

* * *

They were in the forests once again, the trees becoming greener and fuller as the magical forest thickened. Draco was no longer carrying her, having a wand and seeing no need to apparate them. Instead, she was levitating beside him, cross-legged and tired.

Now that they had a map on their side, navigating and avoiding muggle towns became easier. They'd gotten boxed in once, which had forced them to walk from one side of a town to the other, but besides that they were doing surprisingly well.

Now that Hermione had gotten over the initial shock of her situation, she was once again retreating into her old self, ignoring him just like she had done in school. She couldn't glare at him like she wanted to, but she made sure to be as short with him as possible.

As he had expected, and as he had hoped.

It was raining, and the trees did not completely shield them from the heavy drops as they saturated the landscape. As a result, both the young wizards were wet to the bone and cold, despite the daylight. Draco cast a quick, low-level warming charm over himself.

"Hey," Hermione huffed, her arms crossed.

"'Hey' nothing. You get to suffer."

Wet, dirty, and shivering, he was feeling particularly mean. He wanted to punish her for their circumstances, both with the Death Eaters and with the weather. Technically, she was the cause of his predicament. And he didn't like anyone making him suffer.

A lot of times though, he didn't get mad - he got even.

And it was actually  _that_  thinking that had put him in this situation to begin with.

He picked a bowtruckle off of his arm and flung it into a nearby bush.

By the next day, Hermione had developed a cold.

"Shut it," he snapped, irritated, after a stream of five sneezes.

"Maybe if you weren't such a  _dickhead_ , I wouldn't be sneezing."

All the little things - the way her voice curved around dirty words to try to project them when he knew that she wasn't comfortable with saying them; the way she was bent on pointing out every flaw that he had when he could shout a million things back at her; the way she huffed in annoyance every once in a while to remind him that she was still there. It was really getting to him. He was reminded all over again why he disliked her.

In school, he hadn't really needed to deal with her in more than small doses - class, lunch, prefects meetings. Dealing with her full time was overkill.

This was his mission.  _She_  needed to piss off.

"Where are we  _going?_ "

"Merlin's knickers, if you don't shut your hole," he warned.

They suddenly came upon a clearing with a wide, glittering lake in the center of it. Draco checked the map again. They were walking a bit northwest... yes, there was a little body of water speck right there. On the map the magical parts were in color while the muggle parts were in black and white... and this was in the magical part of the forest.

Draco put his wand away, and Hermione dropped to the ground, surprising her and sending her on another sneezing fit.

They did not really need to bathe, but he missed civilized life where he could if desired take two showers a day, taking as long as he pleased. It was going to be a while before they found another perfect opportunity to do so.

Draco reached out and tested the water - it was actually a bit warm.

"Where are we?" Hermione asked thickly, trying to feel the ground.

He took a few calming breaths before he spoke, rolling his aching shoulders. "We're at... the Pond of Dreams."

Hermione's face darkened. "The Pond of Dreams... the one that induces a dreamless sleep for eternity?"

"No," Draco said, looking at it. "That's the lake in Poland. This is the one with the healing waters."

"Oh," Hermione said quietly, realizing her mistake. Draco Malfoy had actually just corrected her... he was in her class when they had studied that in History of Magic.

"They're easily confusable, remember? Because of the names. It was on our O.W.L. exams..." he trailed off awkwardly.

Hermione nodded, her face blank. School seemed so long ago... she wondered how she had managed to forget History of Magic when Draco had actually remembered it. Her ears burned red.

"Anyway, I'm having a wash. And so are you." He pulled her up by her arm and pushed her towards the water's edge, covering the strange moment with a clear of his throat. "Now."

Hermione looked in the direction of the sound of his voice, wishing that she could see the expression on his face, or his posture, to tell what he was thinking. When it came to things like bathing or using the toilet, she still could never trust him. She wouldn't put it past him to say something about her body, or worse, make some comment designed to make her uncomfortable. She couldn't even do those things around her former dorm mates, let alone her bully.

Draco dropped his bag on the ground and started to remove his shirt. He really didn't appreciate her hesitance  _every single time_  they had to do this. He had already told her that he did  _not_  care, so what was her problem? His face set in hard lines. "I'm giving you exactly one minute to get undressed and get in the water, or I am throwing you in there fully clothed."

She reluctantly started to remove her shirt. Why did he not understand how this made her uncomfortable? It was typical of the men she knew to scoff at her modesty, but they at least on some level understood the societal pressures on women to look a certain way, and so they could only tease her so much before they realized that they were a part of the problem.

The constant sexualizing of female bodies coupled with the derision women were treated with when they put effort into their appearances - or worse, didn't - made for a messy power dynamic that only seemed to quadruple when combined with a prisoner/captor dynamic.

It was also just such an easy (and lazy) way to annoy her, albeit an effective one.

While Hermione fumed, Draco tried to remember what the properties of the pond were.  _Healing waters, illegal to drink... but it's there's no Ministry protection on it. And there should be a small waterfall nearby as well._ Draco looked around the clearing, seeing a little bit of white mist in the distance, heading back into the thick of the forest. That must have been the waterfall.

Draco looked up as he heard a splash - Hermione had entered the water.

* * *

"I hope you're not intending to make me wear the same dirty clothes."

Draco rolled his eyes, shirtless and leaning against a tree. "We're running from some of the most dangerous people alive, and you're concerned about wearing dirty clothes? I got over it. You can get over it."

Hermione shook her head, rubbing her arms. She wasn't that concerned - she was just trying to be difficult, she knew. In the meantime, she wanted to brew an escape plan.

But first, she wanted to bathe; the water was actually warm, which was a relief. She stretched her arms, letting her joints crack before rubbing her bare skin, trying to remove the sweat and dirt from the past few days.

Draco put the wand inside of the bag and said, "Time to get out!" Hermione turned in his direction.

"Throw me someth - I mean, wait a second." She got a little closer to the bank, on all fours since the water only came up to her waist, and continued. "Okay, throw me something to cover up in."

Draco rolled his eyes and plucked her jacket from the grassy ground. "Here," he said, holding it in front of her. She felt for it and snatched it up, wrapping it around herself as she got out of the water.

"Stay right here, I'm getting in."

Hermione nodded, holding the jacket closed with one hand and feeling around for a tree with the other. There was a splash behind her as Draco entered the water.

"Ew," he said, looking around at the pristine water, "for such a clean pond it sure does feel like old bathwater." He looked back towards his companion to find that Hermione was not there.

"Fuck!" he cursed, lifting himself onto the bank.

Hermione was running, her hands outstretched in the jacket sleeves, the front open. It was an impulsive plan, but she was doing pretty well despite her blindness - the forest had been thinning out for some time, so there were fewer trees to run into. She heard a splash behind her; Draco was coming for her.

She sped up a bit; Draco ran after her retreating back. It was only a matter of seconds before he was right behind her, and he reached out and pulled her to him without hesitation.

"Did you really think you could escape from me?" he whispered in her ear before scooping her up roughly. Hermione screamed and squirmed as he threw her over his shoulder and marched back toward the pond.

Her bare knees knocked into his chest, which was smooth and dripping with wetness; her bare stomach was painfully bent over his shoulder. She beat her hands against his back and tried to fight his grip on the back of her legs. She tried her elbows, beaning him on his neck and head; he ducked to avoid her blows and tightened his hold on her legs.

"Put me down!" she shrieked, squirming.

Draco rolled his eyes again as he stepped closer to the water's edge, turned around, and dumped her, upside down, into the water. He turned back to see her bare legs sticking out of the surface just before her knees, kicking.

He laughed then, watching her try to right herself and then come up to the surface sputtering and coughing. Hermione stopped flailing around, hearing his laughter, and reached out.

Draco gasped as his foot suddenly left the ground and he splashed into the water as well.

All the irritation he had felt for the last few days came rushing back full force, nearly blinding him. "I'M GONNA  _MASSACRE_  YOU!"

Now Hermione was laughing.

She began pushing heaves of water in his direction, laughing as he countered. Draco was stronger, but Hermione was a better swimmer, eyesight or not. As his hand grazed her foot she darted away quickly.

"I hope you aren't intending to let a  _blind girl_  put you in your place!" she shouted through her ragged breaths, buttoning up the remaining buttons on her jacket, which was soaked through and clinging heavily to her arms and back.

"You are so dead!" he yelled back determinedly, taking big strides in the waist-deep water. She screamed again and moved away, diving under the surface and jetting in the opposite direction. She reached the other side of the pond quickly, and poked her head just above the surface to try to hear where he was.

"Ha!" he said triumphantly, grabbing her from behind and swinging her around. She screamed as she went under again. "I got you! That was for pulling me in the water!"

Hermione spit the water out of her mouth and tilted her head to get it out of her ear, noting with a grimace that he was ridiculously rough, tossing her about without any regard to her small frame. She messaged the spot on her stomach that had been pushed into his shoulder. "That's what you got for dumping me in like that!"

"Well, you shouldn't have tried to escape!"

There was silence then as they contemplated the situation and realized that yes, they were naked in a pond, yes, they were just having fun, and no, they were not supposed to be messing around at a time like this. They had murderers after them, murderers who had probably heard the screaming and were now coming for them.

"Come on," Draco said lowly, tugging the collar of her jacket and moving towards their clothes. Hermione sighed and followed.


	7. Human After All

_"A mind that is stretched by a new experience can never go back to its old dimensions." - Oliver Wendell Holmes_

* * *

There was dead silence, the type of quiet that came when everything within hearing range held its breath. They were not moving, not daring to shift on the wet leaves. The foliage around them was so dark it appeared inky black even against the plum color of the night sky peaking through the trees. Draco tried not to imagine kneeling on emptiness.

Someone was there, waiting - Draco could feel the fringes of his mind tingling as the Death Eater spread out his consciousness. He could just barely make out the strangely smooth, black shape against the jagged roughness of the surrounding trees and brush.

His concern, however, was not himself at this point - his concern was Hermione.

He cursed the situation, trying not to shake; how could he have been so careless? If he didn't do something, and quickly, everything would be over. He couldn't shift on the wet leaves to reach the wand, though he knew it was their only chance.

He groaned inwardly, realizing what he had to do, and hoping that it didn't scare Hermione out of her skin.

He'd been taught a special brand of magic as a Death Eater - magic that was undoubtedly illegal - that allowed the Death Eaters to communicate mind-to-mind. It was incredibly invasive, and somewhat painful and confusing, but he was out of options.

Merlin, he was hoping to never have to do this again...

Draco slipped from behind the barrier in his mind to reach out to Hermione's. He had never tried this with someone who wasn't a Death Eater... but he had no other choice.

_:Hermione?:_  he thought softly, hoping that his familiar tone and use of her first name would not startle her and thus reveal their position. Next to him, he felt her heart speed up.

Her blood ran cold. She could feel him breathing next to her, but could also feel his  _emotions,_  as if they occupied her own body - intense fear, determination, hatred for their situation and the Death Eater in the dark. She tried to reconcile the new feelings, trying to separate them from her own... but the intense emotions were terrifying.

Draco recoiled slightly, as he could suddenly feel her desperate fear, filling his body like liquid. She was all nerves. If they were going to make it out with as little... complication... as possible, he needed to play this strategically.

He had learned to repress his emotions; it was probably the one useful thing, besides occlumency and legillimency, that Snape had taught him.

He'd learned from the best.

Draco tried to focus on calming down, trying to soothe her startled mind.  _:Focus on an emotion if you can feel this.:_

Hermione slowly let go of the panic in her heart and focused on her determination. It wafted into him in waves - it was weak, but was a start.

_:Reach into my pocket for the wand.:_ He filled her mind with what he was seeing; barely discernable in the darkness was her hand, next to his leg, the wand tip just visible.

Hermione hesitated, and he could feel her unease with touching him as well as her excitement with the prospect of wielding the wand. He bristled as he realized that she could leave him there if she wanted. He was giving her the power in this situation. He detected no devilish intentions from her however. The sincerity of her emotions dazzled him for a few seconds.

Hermione touched his leg silently, her warm hand burning his skin through the cold fabric. He sensed her relief as she closed two fingertips over the wand shaft and began to slowly pull up. As the tip left the edge of the pocket, the pocket made a small ripping noise.

A bolt of angry electricity suddenly shot towards them, and Draco pushed Hermione behind the tree they were up against roughly as he went the other direction.

Draco felt for the wand - Hermione still had it.

" _Sectumsempra!_ " she shouted.

The spell hit the Death Eater in the shoulder, slicing the robe and skin open, but the Death Eater wasn't fazed. He sent a silent spell at her, hitting the tree and exploding bark and wood chips in every direction. The tree cracked thunderously and began to fall.

Even Draco was practically blind in the darkness, but he found her surprisingly fast. Before he dissapparated, arms wrapped around her waist and wand in tow, he heard one thing over the noise:

"Fool."

* * *

She was taking the pain rather well, or as well as a girl with bits of wood sticking out of her chest could.

He set her down in the damp grass, her delirious moans chilling him as her arm slipped from around his neck involuntarily.

Draco fumbled with the remaining panacea sap, cursing. He should have stopped to treat her sooner!

It had been nearly an hour since the attack, and they were in the forest outside a muggle port city. The glow from the city gave him some light by which to examine her; the moon supplied the rest. He reached for the collar of her shirt, grasping it above her collarbone.

"No!" she panicked, kicking her feet. Whether his intentions were noble or not, she did not want him looking at her there.

Draco held her down by the shoulders, knowing that this probably hurt, but she was making it worse the more she moved. Her gasps of pain and further flailing made him push harder.

"Hey... stop...  _stop it!_  I'm going to heal you! Stop moving!" She stopped then, tensed up and ready to struggle, only relaxing when he leaned back. "Do you want me to heal you?"

Hermione hesitated, but nodded. It was a little insulting that she  _still_ didn't trust his magical ability (or his intentions) but he reached again for her collar nonetheless.

There were several large splintered pieces of wood sticking out of her now bloodstained green shirt. He magicked these away the best he could and used the wand to rip her shirt open.

... Wow. Ew.

But mostly wow.

Draco gaped at the several large holes, right between her breasts and even marring her stomach. Her skin reflected the cold, blue glow of the moon and the warm tint of the city, and her dark, black wounds breathed and glistened angrily. He found himself speechless at the gruesome sight.

Draco looked up - she was covering her face with her hands.

He cleared his throat and ripped the shirt open more, noting her cringe at the sudden noise, and fetched the water bottle. He had to look away a moment, forcing himself to become angry with her for not wearing a bra like most  _normal_ girls.

There was silence as he cleaned her skin, trying to ignore the small, feminine gasps of pain and rise and fall of her chest. There was something morbidly beautiful about it all - the way her skin moved under his fingers and the strange intensity of the red when it smeared. He rubbed slowly, softly, noting that she had uncovered her face and turned her head to the side. Her eyes were open.

He finished as quickly as he could after that, ripping a piece of her shirt to wipe away the rest of the blood and smearing panacea sap over the red blotches. The panacea sap, he hoped, would harden from the exposure to air and create new tissue and protective scabs more quickly. He looked away then to tend to the splinters in her calf.

Finally, with a quick warming charm, he was done. Hermione scooted away from him immediately, clearly glad to get some personal space back, and said, barely above a whisper, "Thank you."

"Sure," he whispered back, turning away.

* * *

It seemed as if the world had ended all over again.

Ron sat in his room, as he usually did over the summer away from school, but the bright orange felt nothing like home now.

He hadn't actually realized how much Hermione meant to him, how much he really cared about her until she had gone... how many times did he have to learn this lesson? Ginny. Percy.  _Harry._  He was lucky to have these people back.

But...

Fred.

Moody, Tonks, Lupin. Dobby, even.

And now, her.

He couldn't cry, he couldn't release the rock that had become his stomach. He wanted to take every cell in his body and splatter it against a wall, push every emotion he had ever felt through a shredder.

He wanted to scream bloody murder.

_"I know this is difficult for you -"_

"Difficult?" He hadn't known the  _meaning_  of the word.

_"- but we have to brave through it and hope for the best. We are all doing what we can._ "

Harry, at least, understood how he felt, and understood what it was like to lose so many people he loved in so short a time. Fred's grin still haunted him every time he closed his eyes, and he couldn't look George in the face and see the obvious pain, the clear empty space beside him.

Hermione's loss felt like an empty space beside his own self, a void between him and his best friend. They were a threesome; with one of the three table legs gone, all Harry and Ron could do now was topple over, forever condemned to be imbalanced and hurting from the missing piece.

* * *

He was  _feeling_ something. Urgh.

He hated everything about feelings - the word, the sound of it, the curdling in his stomach as he felt something he shouldn't... it was all just  _gross._

And because he hated feelings and hated feeling, he especially knew the signs. He could already sense the stirring in his fingers, and the tightening of his throat… that drug-like sensation, like being submerged in tar...

He hated that weakness, that total submission to his heart. It made him feel inadequate.

Snape had been the one to save him, the one to teach him how to push everything down, make it all evaporate. It had apparently come in great use for Snape... Draco had used it as well for his own purposes.

But extended periods of time? He couldn't do it. Which led him to his current predicament, where he'd been feeling more emotions than he should have been, anger included.

He  _really_  needed to get himself together by one, reminding himself of what Hermione Granger  _really_ was and two, focusing on his mission. Her accompaniment, however planned it was, came with a bit of shock value as he had not thought too much about all that her tagging along would entail, not even mentioning the blindness. He'd predicted that he'd be listening to her raving about how "ignorant" he was and how "smart" she was, or perhaps lecturing him on Arithmancy theory or something... whatever bookworms talk about.

Instead, he was slowly realizing that she wasn't just some nameless Death Eater target, some former classmate, some Gryffindor. She was a person, a  _girl_. She was a fully-formed human, with thoughts and fears and desires and -

He didn't want to think it, but Merlin, she had  _breasts._

He tried to clear the image from his head, but it just kept coming back, biting at his mind. No, it was  _not_ the first time he'd seen a girl remotely naked. It was definitely not the first time, but he had grown up in a house where mention of sexuality was censored with double entendres and starchy language. This had not been bad enough to leave him scarred, at least he didn't think so. But this did not explain the fascination with her skin that had taken hold, nor the recognition of her as a person, or how he'd basically been unable to heal her objectively without imagining touching her chest under different circumstances...

The memory of her skin, white-blue in the light of the moon, edged in yellow from the light of the city, with black, gritty holes caked with blood clumped together like mold... it was the visual representation, the perfect metaphor of the alien and dirty quality that her kind supposedly had.

But in reality, it was just blood. She was just Hermione. And no matter how much he wanted to put her into the box of  _mudblood, goodie-good, Dumbledore's golden girl,_  she was just another human trying to make it in the world, another human that would understandably get embarrassed if someone had their hands on their chest for an extended period of time.

Shit, he needed to focus.

These things that he was feeling, these emotions like... guilt and protectiveness and fascination and curiosity... they just had to disappear before something terrible happened to him:

He might actually become human himself.

And he knew what he should have felt; he should have felt disgusted by her. He should have been appalled to touch her... tainted blood, the dark slime that it was. Instead, he was floored by the distinctly  _human_  quality she had... epidermis and blood and emotion, muscles rippling under her blue and yellow skin.

Maybe he should say something horrible, to reaffirm the balance between them...

But no. Even though he was at least unconsciously determined to annoy her in any possible way, there were some things that were better left untouched.

* * *

Hermione was grateful for the somewhat numbing sensation caused by the panacea sap. It was a natural painkiller, an absolute must at this point, since she had never felt something more excrutiating in her life.

She tried to steady her breath, but breathing normally was so difficult; the wood had been dangerously close to puncturing her lung, and her chest muscles were horribly damaged. It was a relief that besides the burning pain, she could actually feel the panacea sap rebuilding her tissues. She tried to not think about what would have happened if Draco hadn't found that tree.

Draco.

She'd sensed his surprise and awkwardness as he had healed her, steady breathing be damned. He must have felt something, thought something. She wanted desperately to know what he had been thinking, what he had been looking at. She knew for a fact that her breasts had been exposed; she could feel them moving as he touched her.

It had suddenly occurred to her that she wasn't nearly as repulsed by his touch as she probably should have been; in fact, he'd been touching her pretty frequently. Between carrying her, apparating them, and guiding her through her darkness, she had not felt that his touch was a foreign thing.

It hadn't surprised her, but his gentle hands had been somewhat confusing - he had always been rough with her, pulling her, carrying her with little regard to her comfort.

But Godric, his hands on her chest had felt so intimate, it had taken all of her energy to relax.

Unfortunately, with the unbelievable pain coursing through her, the nightmarish realization that she might die - she wanted nothing more than to lie still and bite through it. And when, through the agony, she had felt his cool fingers, rubbing away the blood and dirt, the sensation had burned through every other sensation she was feeling.

Pushing aside their odd physical interaction forcefully - she didn't want the intense embarrassment and curiosity she'd felt earlier to creep back up again - she wondered how they'd ended up laughing and near-naked in a pond, splashing water at each other. She wondered why he hadn't just left her at the mercy of the Death Eater, or why he had taken the time to clean her up properly. In fact, she wondered why he was even doing this to begin with.

She somehow had not believed it before, but it was so clear now -

He was really trying to protect her. He wasn't just trying to thwart some plan; he intended to make sure she was okay.

And what had she been doing?

All her impetuous escape attempts just seemed so foolish now. She hadn't really imagined a world where she could truly trust him, but now... he had proved that his intentions, and the danger that she was in, was legitimate.

Merlin help them, they were in deep.

* * *

"Where did you learn that spell?"

The young wizards were both awake, side by side, trying to turn off their brains as the moon bathed them in blue.

There was a few seconds of silence before she answered. She knew that Harry had used that spell against him, slicing him up, and wasn't completely sure that he didn't recognize the incantation. She couldn't keep the fear out of her voice. "Professor Snape."

"He never told me that one."

"No one..." she gasped uncomfortably at the burning in her chest, "was supposed to know about it."

Draco nodded slowly, studying the stars.

She felt, for the first time, that he was actually listening to her, that they were having a real conversation. The intense pain she had felt earlier had subsided a little; after a delirious nap, she had awoken to him shuffling restlessly next to her, much closer than she had expected.

He had apparently not wanted to just lay there awkwardly, awake and silent, so he had spoken a few charms; another warming charm, an anti-itch charm, and a repelling charm that would keep the bugs away. She had waited as he spoke these quietly, her body tingling. After he had finished, he had checked her vitals, and had passed his wand over her, up and down her limbs, making sure there weren't any other wounds he would need to take care of. She could feel his gaze inspecting her body, scrutinizing her skin, and it had been difficult to lie still and not overthink it.

"It just came out," Hermione continued softly. "It was the first spell that I could think of... to deal damage."

"And it was the first one Goody Gryffindor ever used."

"Professor Moody - "

"That's doesn't count, Granger."

She stayed silent, so Draco found himself searching for something else to ask, something to fill the heavy silence. His brain was swimming with questions - why hadn't she used the wand to escape by herself? Why hadn't her wounds killed her?

But of all the questions that he could of asked, he asked the thing on the tip of his tongue:

"D-Do you still have the walking stick?"

"No... I'm sorry."


	8. Shores of Discontent

_"Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature... Life is either a daring adventure or nothing." - Helen Keller_

* * *

Now that Hermione's shirt was ruined, she was forced to don her old one, complete with the ripped sleeve. She hugged the wrinkled cloth to herself as she listened to the sounds Draco made as he packed supplies into the bag. "Are we entering the city today?" she asked quietly, in the same manner she had used to, not a fortnight before, back when she was terrified of being dead at any second, frantic in the black world she was thrust into.

Draco pointedly ignored the question, pushing her further into her hole, but paused all the same.

"Let me see your wounds," he said abruptly, standing up. Hermione blinked her black eyes tearfully, taking a step back and finding herself still against a tree. She made no move to go around it because she knew he would get her eventually. The more compliant she was, the less likely he was to torture her.

Especially because all of it was torture now, a constant ache inside her that had nothing to do with the holes in her chest. She wanted to aggravate her wounds enough for her body to trigger some natural painkillers, covering the nerves that sent pain signals to her brain. Maybe she would not be able to feel the way he was tearing down her walls. It was already painful enough that she was a captive and vulnerable to any sudden... whims he might have.

Such as this.

Draco stepped over to her quickly, filling her with a breathtaking panic, but by contrast lifted her shirt slowly. He was deliberately careful with her breasts, ensuring that the fabric still covered them as he bunched it in his hand. Hermione cringed as she felt his gaze inspect her splotched skin; his patch job was as good as she could get with little resources, but there had to be some wood - and probably dirt and things much worse - still in there. The holes would probably get infected. She was unconsciously holding her breath, suddenly aware of how tall he was and how imposing his person was on her personal space.

"They don't hurt," she whispered, a blatant lie. She had been moaning in pain all night.

Draco nodded and stepped away from her. "We're leaving then."

There was a heavy silence between them as they found the highway leading into the city and began walking along it, Draco with the bulging duffel, which he could not shrink because of the panacea sap. She reveled in the cacophony that they were coming upon; days traveling with Malfoy had the oddest mechanical quiet to them, even in the beautiful singing of the forest.

It was definitely dangerous for her to look forward to the discomfort of avoiding his attention, but anything was better than reflecting on the awkwardness that had settled between the two, which had dimmed the extreme dislike into something less bearable.

As they walked, it occurred to Draco how ridiculous the whole business was. Hermione Granger? Really. He was letting her get to him, never mind actually keeping her away from Death Eaters, and, oh goodness,  _healing her_. Ha! He would have rather fed her to the Death Eaters, in a manner of speaking.

 _No,_  he said to himself,  _you are not running away. You always do this - start something and then just let it go. Prove them right. Forfeit._ He had to finish this. If not him, then who, and if not now, then when?

Destroying their plans was worth it, no matter the inconvenience.

Besides, the Death Eater's plans we're only in the corner of his mind now, completely overshadowed by his relationship with his companion. If only he didn't feel so strange about their situation, so unsure of himself, maybe he could put more effort into being a prick to her. But as it was, he didn't have the energy.

It was almost too... weird to torture her now. After he'd healed her, after he'd touched her.

Some part of him wanted to restore the balance, make a snide comment to break the fuzzy silence that had taken root, and establish them, once again, as former enemies, temporary companions, and eternal pet peeves. Acknowledging the awkwardness just made him feel like a schmuck who could not get over it.

A car honked as he veered a bit into the road, and he realized how suspicious the two of them looked walking along the highway.

"Let's hurry," he said shortly, tugging her along.

* * *

"What's this town's name?"

Hermione was now full of questions again and he was in no mood to be giving answers. "Don't know, don't care," Draco muttered, looking around the busy street. They were in a muggle city now, the coast glittering a short ways away. They were walking quickly toward the harbor - he could see the tops of boats already, poking oddly around the mismatched buildings.

First they had to stop at a store and nick a few things. Draco was desperate for some real food, that dull ache he'd felt earlier settling into his stomach and churning its emptiness. Hermione was also in need of some bandages and maybe some muggle healing potions. They walked up and down the streets before he found a franchise drug store, ignoring all of the pretty little clothing shops along the road; shopping with his mother had trained him to notice such establishments. He did not know how to shop for muggle bandages, but they were probably one of the few things that were easily identifiable. He was not above resorting to them, especially not when life could probably depend on it.

It was one of the biggest differences between him and his father.

He found the aisle quickly thanks to the clear aisle labels.

"How do muggle bandages work, Granger?"

Hermione shook her head, hugging her arms to herself. "Just get some big ones," she said quietly. The temperature in the store was not mixing well with her damaged chest and stomach; she couldn't hold herself as tightly as she wanted to without gasping in pain.

As expected, Draco was able to nick three boxes without rousing the suspicion of any store clerks. "What healing potion should I get?"

Hermione's eyes closed. She hadn't had to think like a muggle in a long while. "Get some hydrogen peroxide."

Draco wrinkled his nose. That sounded like such a muggle chemical. He grabbed the brown bottle anyway. This looked like one of the potions that burned when it came in contact with the wound. He honestly didn't know how he felt about that.

He grabbed a candy bar on the way out and headed for the pier.

"How are we getting on a boat?" Hermione asked quietly when he stopped.

Draco looked around the dock at the many boats, in every size, shape, and color. He had no idea how to man a boat. If he were to jump on one and try to sail, they'd probably end up in Iceland. Or stranded, if they were lucky enough not to drown.

Loitering and staring at the boats attracted unnecessary attention, but they had no other option; they'd come this far, and thus needed to follow through with their original plan. Draco opened the candy bar and put it into his mouth... hmm. Muggle candy was rather boring.

"Admiring her, are you?" said a voice from their left. Draco turned to see a middle-aged, slightly plump man with thinning hair and a crinkly smile.

"Um, yes I was," Draco said uncertainly around the chocolate in his mouth, lowering the candy bar. He'd never really talked to a muggle before and didn't quite know how to react. The man spoke with a slight brogue and had his hands on his hips, but besides his starched, albeit slightly drab clothing, he looked no different than a frequenter of the Leaky Cauldron.

"We were wondering if you could take us to Norway," Hermione said, looking toward the man's voice. Draco looked at her incredulously.

"I eventually stop in Norway, yes," he said, looking into the sun. "I pay three fifty an hour, you can start now if you like; you comin'?" Draco stared at him, and he chuckled. "I'm fooling. I pay more'n that."

"We - "

"We can't just ride along?" she asked. Draco looked sharply at her again.

The man stared at her for a long moment, probably assessing her slightly unkempt appearance, the dirt smudged on her arms. The way she shivered as if she hadn't eaten in days. "I'll tell you what," he said, motioning to a man who had just gotten off the boat, "If you can load all these boxes below while we go pick up some supplies right fast, I'll let you ride along." He smiled at them.

"Thank you!" Hermione said brightly, and the man walked away.

"What just happened?" Draco asked himself angrily before turning to her. "How many times do I have - "

"Shut up, I got us a boat. Now move the boxes." Draco stared at her.

"Do you really - "

"You have a  _wand_. Just levitate them."

Draco sputtered angrily before looking around them. There were people around.

"No one will notice! Just make it look like you're lifting!"

"How would you know? You can't  _see_  how many people are around!"

Hermione shrugged and turned away from him, the wind twisting her hair about.

Draco's brain finally wrapped around the situation. That had taken no time at all... he'd half expected them to wait around the boats all day, looking for a way to sneak on one. He glared at her back as she suddenly bent down and felt for the edges of a box. "I don't think so, bug-eyes. Step aside, and don't go falling in the water."

It took twice as long as it probably could have, considering that he had to board with the boxes every time, but he still finished in time for the balding man to ogle the empty space.

"Whew," he said, obviously impressed. "You did that all by yourself, lad?"

Draco nodded, glaring at Hermione, who had her head turned in the wrong direction.

"Well?" he said, looking at the person behind him - a tall and toned man who was probably only a little older than Draco - who shrugged.

"It's your esteemed vessel, Frank," he said, lifting the bag he was carrying further up on his shoulder.

"Okay. Come along," Frank sighed, boarding.

The young man behind him stood next to Draco. "Isn't he great? I started working for him in much the same way - I showed up and asked for a ride. I'm Tim by the way."

"Pleasure," Draco said, grabbing Hermione's arm. She was drifting away a bit, a little too close to the edge of the dock.

"Anyway, I'll show you around. You ever been on a boat before? I hadn't either. It's not that difficult to learn. Well, actually it is, but we won't be having you do anything too taxing."

Draco looked at Hermione as the young man continued to blab away, wondering how she'd managed to get them a ticket into safety. She was obviously not as impaired as he'd thought.

* * *

"You have no idea," Harry said, watching the woman's quill scratch against her parchment. She was, thank goodness, a far cry from the atrocity that was Rita Skeeter, and even further from Fudge.

She was the woman in charge of the Department of Magical Defense.

"What else did the storekeeper say?"

Harry looked at his hands. "That was all." The woman nodded and put away her quill and parchment pad.

There was silence as she looked at him for a couple of seconds. He looked up at her and knew that she understood.

"I'm very sorry about this, Harry," she said, her expression motionless but her voice all concern and remorse.

Harry nodded. They'd found out very little since the inn incident, and time was moving very quickly. He tried not to think about what condition his friend was in, about how close she had come before to being in their clutches permanently, about the muffled sound of her screams as he'd sat in that cell after being captured...

"We're doing everything we can. But Thomas just joined the Death Eaters, so they don't have him doing anything big yet. He hasn't even been to their camp... he's not that reliable anyway - we need more snitches."

Harry smiled a bit at the muggle term. "It's fine. I know you are working really hard. Thank you for taking this case, Nora."

"It's my pleasure, and my job," Nora Constable replied, clasping her hands.

* * *

Once they set sail, they ended up not doing anything in particular. Hermione found herself sitting on the top deck, listening to the sounds the water made as it hit the white gloss of the boat.

Draco, of course, the map under his arm, was pacing.

As far as he was concerned, they were now trapped in an enclosed space. How had she managed to talk him into this shit? Besides the rocking of the boat making him nervous, as well as the strange looks from the handful of people aboard, he could not help but feel that he had put them in more danger than they would have been in otherwise. "I can't believe this," he muttered, turning.

"Relax, Draco. We're safe now."

"Did it ever occur to you that if the Death Eaters managed to find us here, we have nowhere to run?"

"Can you apparate or not? Besides, you agreed with me before."

He shook his head, running his fingers through his hair, backwards and forwards, scraping his scalp. He'd never apparated over water, and he had no idea where to go. Hopefully any capture attempt would not be traumatic enough for him to have his mind open. If that was the case, the Death Eaters would know his destination, and it would be harder to lose them.

Not to mention the fact that he was getting  _very_  sick of this rocking motion and the smell of the sea water as it sprayed over them. It made his stomach twist even more. He put his other hand to his stomach to ease some of the discomfort.

Bloody sailing.

* * *

Hermione leaned against the railing, letting the cold wind whip at her face and blow her now undone hair around. She needed a bit of freedom, and this was the closest she could come. She'd already thought tell Frank that Draco was holding her against her will, but what good would that do? If he believed her, they were still on the water and he still had a job to do. There was only so much he could do for her, being a muggle while Draco had a wand.

And how much did she really want to escape anymore?

Everything back home - all the paperwork, meetings, endless newspaper articles - it all seemed so far away, and so unappealing to her. The only real reason why she wanted to get out of this was so she could see Harry and Ron again.

She missed them so much... the thought made her throat tighten.

Draco had started out being a completely unbearable captor, but lately he had become more of a travel companion than anything - bringing her food, letting her bathe, healing her wounds, carrying her while they apparated... she remembered, briefly, the feeling of his chest as she'd bumped against it, over and over, during their first escape...

She also had no wand, no way to contact her friends, and no way to get to the Ministry of Magic, even if she did manage to incapacitate Draco long enough to make an attempt. And Draco was her eyes.

Ugh. Her eyesight was complicating everything.

Because she couldn't see Draco's face and connect that with his voice, she was starting to view him as a different person, and not the mean, brutish little punk that she remembered. While limiting her to treating him fairly, which she knew that she shouldn't do, it also gave her an opportunity to understand him and hear him out. She couldn't forgive him just yet for the horrible way he'd treated her, even in the past few weeks; it didn't matter that he'd done it to save her life.

He wasn't much for deep conversation, but she could still view him as a human with thoughts and fears. Her brain wanted to blanket it, make it seem as though he was just an ill-hearted person who got off on the pain and suffering of others, but in her heart she knew that nothing was as simple as that. Not being able to see his face helped so much when dealing with him... it was probably only because of that fact that she even allowed herself to think of him in any kind of positive or understanding light.

But what could she expect? She was out here, on some random boat, traveling to a random city, with no one but him to lead her in the right direction.

Whether she liked it or not, he was becoming, in a twisted way, a friend. Complete strangers were nicer to her than he had ever been, and yet a part of her needed him - his help, his eyes, the now reassuring sound of his voice. A part of her even craved his touch; he'd been touching her almost constantly, and it was somehow comforting to be steered, to have someone with so much confidence in their actions direct her.

Though, his gentle hands on her naked chest had been incredibly confusing. Through the terror and pain, the intimacy had honestly excited her.

_Don't think about it, don't think about it..._

She dared not compare Draco with her other friends; Harry...  _Ron..._  her relationship with Harry was one of the best she'd ever had, and with Ron... well, even now it was complicated, going back and forth between friend and romantic interest, depending on the time of day, it seemed.

There was no comparison in that way. But what she had with Draco was a different kind of relationship. Again, she still couldn't really talk to him - it was a rare thing to have an open conversation with him, like the one she'd had only a night ago - but she sensed that if she could get him to talk openly, he really wasn't so bad.

It still wasn't friendship... but it was on its way.

Besides, when she really thought about it, she and Draco had the same goal: bring down the Death Eaters. Crush the remaining resistance so the rest of the world could live in harmony. He could never change sides formally; he had to work undercover to protect himself, and to protect his mission. So perhaps his cause was good, even though he demonstrated that he was, at least on the surface, an egotistical prat. And perhaps that would never change... but his heart apparently had.

"There is no honor in this so called  _mission_  of his... he's basically driven by nothing but revenge," she tried to convince herself. It had decent chance of being true, given his history.

She didn't understand revenge as a motivator; she understood the need to make people feel what they have done to others, but she knew that revenge just got more people killed and more people hurt, and that it was a never-ending cycle of madness. There were better motivators for doing good.

But then again, it was a good start for him. Revenge was something that she knew Malfoy could understand; it was in his family and in his nature.

"Well, I can hardly go back now, can I?"

Hermione whipped around to face him, barely keeping her balance at the edge. Had he been standing behind her that whole time? Her face flushed; damn her eyes. "Yes, you can back out. Take me to the Ministry."

"I'm sorry, Granger - I just can't trust you to go about your merry way without exacting your own revenge."

Hermione shook her head and carefully turned around again, letting her hair plaster itself to the sides of her head from the wind. He obviously knew nothing about her motivations - her revenge on him would just be him knowing how much he had ruined lives, and nothing more than that. "You are just making the end harder for yourself."

"I can't just let this go," he said a little more softly. "I have to finish this."

"And what end is there?"

There was a brief silence before she understood. "Are you suggesting... are you dragging me along to your futile attempt to destroy Voldemort's followers?"

Draco thought, letting a little smirk cross his lips. "Yes, I guess I am."

"That's ridiculous! You're going to lead me straight to them! We are supposed to be running away, not sitting in their laps!"

"It's not that simple, I know," he countered, sliding a hand over his face, "but I think we can do it."

"What's this 'we' business?"

"Oh, so you  _don't_  want to bring them down? You were so quick to offer your help before! You  _knew_  this is what we would do. You knew."

"I never said that I don't want to bring them down, Malfoy."

"Well, then where is that supposed courageous Gryffindor?"

Hermione shook her head. "The  _Ministry of Magic_  can't even bring them down. What makes you think that we can?"

Draco was losing patience. It all made sense to him, and she was more the type to do this sort of thing than him - she and her little friends had done things like this numerous times, in almost every single year they were at Hogwarts. But suddenly  _he_  was the one rushing into things? "Because we are two people they want more than Harry Potter himself. We are smart, and we both know the secrets of the sides, former for me, current for you. Because we are a small unit while the Ministry is composed of a bunch of bumbling, blundering idiots who can't organize a decent office party let alone a raid."

Hermione closed her eyes, finding it easier to envision his face despite the lack of change in her sight. The only image she could conjure, however, was his murderous features, cast in shadows from the streetlamps on a lonely drive in Edinburgh, and even that was blurry... she shook the image away. "Let me think about it - "

"No," he responded quickly, turning away from her, "if you are not going to help, then what are we supposed to do? Hide away forever?"

"You could let me go."

"Yes, and I could also just  _avada_  myself where I stand."

"You could do that as well."

He eyed her sharply. "Be serious, Granger."

"I  _am_  being serious," she responded angrily. "What good can  _we_  do?"

Draco shook his head and started to walk away. "I offer my help with something you want to do as much as I. I'd like to see the Death Eaters make such an offer."


	9. Reception Fades

" _Vision without action is merely a dream. Action without vision just passes the time. Vision with action can change the world." - Joel A. Barker_

* * *

_Anything was better than this - making a pastime of balancing droplets of blood on his arm as they rose to the surface of his skin; watching wet red lines form and thicken. He just wanted to wrap his arm in something pretty and drench every happy feeling in existence._

_He wanted to watch the world in flames, watch as it infested itself with sadness and collapsed with pain._

_These were not strange feelings. He didn't know anything better, anything lighter than this, and wondered if there could possibly be others like him. He wanted to find them. He wanted to look at them and them to look at him and there to be an infinite understanding, satisfying beyond any revenge he could possibly deal to whoever could possibly be to blame._

_At first he could feel nothing but the tar, when the knife felt like a small scratch... and then the wetness as he made red plaid patterns on a towel... but then the stinging would start. And the lump in his throat would dissipate then._

_The tears, of course, remained, as they often did. He decided that as real as pain felt, it wasn't anything tangible. It was not matter. Matter could not be created or destroyed; it had to come from somewhere and it had to go somewhere as well. The causes and effects were as real as the knife next to him._

_Draco remembered the first time his father showed any indication that he knew about Draco's self-harm. He had found one of his bloody towels, which Draco kept for some unknown reason, even to him. He folded them all neatly into little squares and stacked them in his luxurious walk-in closet, right under his 800 galleon dress robes._

_Lucius had asked him what they were; Draco had replied, "remnants of torture victims."_

_He still wondered at that response, but even more, at his father's reaction to it - he had stood there for a few more seconds, just staring at him. Draco had stared back, unabashed, wondering if Lucius could see his lie, and even more, if Lucius even cared. They probably understood each other more in that moment than in any they had ever shared._

_Good - some honesty probably did Lucius good, whether he thought Draco was a sick trophy stasher or a cutter._

The spells on his arms were fading. He could see the thin scars, brown, white, pink, running up and down his arms. Thank goodness Hermione Granger was as blind as she was. If only she knew his past handiwork... she would lecture him until his ears dropped off.

If there was anything he required her silence on, it was things like this.

Draco rubbed his arm, his skin bristling as the little hairs moved in their pores. There was a light wind about, and the open sea was rather calm for such an overcast sky. It was almost white.

He was thrust back into his memories, his brain supplying pictures of his father on a day like this.

_Lucius always looked good in gloom. Something about his skin giving off a white glow, his normally pale eyelashes supplied with shadows and valleys that allowed for definition._

_The world was grey on days like this, and London was as rainy as it ever was. The only color he could see was the red of his mother's lips and the blue of his parent's eyes, like the parting of the clouds, set in crystals._

_He'd always wondered how something so pure looking could be so utterly sinister._

_He had not inherited that - he was as colorless on a grey day as the surrounding stone slabs of people walking by. His eyes were like stone; dull, and more green when compared with his father's. It made him feel dead inside._

He shook his head. This journey was definitely supplying him with too much time to think, and the last thing he wanted to do was think about the past. As far as he was concerned, he was done telling himself that his life was over. He had at least a hundred years ahead of him... at least, he hoped that he did.

He didn't want Dumbledore's ill-placed faith to go to such waste. It felt like a kick to the ribs.

"What're you spacing about there?" asked Frank, coming up a nearby set of steps that led below. "I've seen better days than this, so I know you aren't enjoying the weather."

Draco shook his head. They'd been going for two days but Draco was still somewhat uncomfortable around Frank. Frank's happy-go-lucky attitude and odd sense of humor made him one of the strangest people that Draco had ever met. He couldn't understand that kind of an approach to life; his life consisted of constantly picking the lesser of two evils.

"There isn't much to do on deck... I've got hands for that sort of thing. I do love the open water though."

Draco nodded, not wanting to be impolite. It almost seemed that Frank was nearly a different species from him. "What do you do for a living?" he asked suddenly.

"If I told ya, I'd have to kill you later, wouldn't I?" When he got no response, he said, "Well, perhaps with my jokes. I ship cargo... well, I  _sneakily_  ship cargo around. There's never a lot of it, maybe a few bits here and there... but it's rather important to a special group of people."

One of the things Draco had noticed that was perhaps adding to his anxiety about the water was the fact that he sensed a magical presence that was not his or his charge's. He suspected that there was something afoot, and he had received confirmation.

"With whom do you do business?"

"I don't know if I can answer that," Frank said. "I trust everybody enough, but who knows, these days..."

"I'm not... a rival trader's spy or something, and I don't work for your government. I'm just curious as to why you took us in." Tim called from below then.

"You needed the help," he said, giving Draco a significant look. Draco studied the man's face, the face of the inferior being with the crinkly, smiling eyes and the unshaven face. "Lemme know if you need anything else," he said as he made his way back into the cabin. Draco stared back at the water.

"I need your assistance," Hermione said tentatively from the other side of the boat after Frank had gone.

"With what?" Draco asked halfheartedly, leaning on the railing.

"I... I need the hydrogen peroxide."

His eyes came to life. "SHIT!" he burst out, whipping around to face her. There was a contrite note in his voice; he'd completely forgotten about the muggle potion! He went to get the black duffel and rustled around in it.

Hermione bowed her head and removed her sunglasses. She had been mentally preparing herself for this - not only the stinging, but the fact that she could not handle a full bottle of watery hydrogen peroxide without her sight; she needed him to do it.

He looked at the bottle; it was plastic and brown, very strange looking compared to the beautiful glassware that wizard potions were kept in. Draco moved his thumb over the soft plastic as he walked over to her.

Oh.  _Oh._

Hermione was leaning back on her hands, her long torso stretched out above the glossy white of the bench. Draco stopped.

He had to pour the stuff on her himself.

"It's very runny, and cold. Don't get it in your hangnails unless you mean to, because it... it stings and bubbles when it comes in contact with the wound."

She made it sound terrible. Draco shook his head, sitting next to her cautiously and twisting the white cap off. Being this close to her immediately felt inappropriate. "What does this do again? Does it mend the skin?"

"No," Hermione breathed quietly. "It disinfects only."

Draco shook his head, steadying his breathing, and commanded, "Lie down."

She followed his direction nervously, her hair framing her head and tumbling over the bench.

He carefully filled the white cap with some of the clear fluid; it had a blue tinge to it and a smell that stung his nose. Hermione pulled her shirt up on her own, wary of accidentally showing her nipples and careful to avoid touching the sticky holes. She already knew that the fabric had left some lint stuck to them.

He studied her for a moment; her skin reflected the white of the sky blindingly, though her edges were grey. The panacea sap had apparently transformed into working tissue, filling the space left by the angry shards of wood. There was still a bit left, and if he concentrated, he could actually see it moving, solidifying into muscle, sinew, and flesh.

He looked up at her face as he balanced the capful above a small wound. Her lips were red, as were her cheeks.

He splashed the liquid onto a wound, and the flesh immediately began to sizzle and bubble. Hermione stifled a cry of pain; Draco had to look away.

She was chuckling now; he stared at her incredulously. Had she gone mad as well? She continued to chortle, even after it made her cough. "I'd forgotten what our medical remedies felt like!"

"That's not at  _all_ funny. Damn muggle  _shit_." The smell was making him sick; he could feel the smell in his mouth, trying to fill his empty stomach.

She shook her head, tears in her black eyes, though she was smiling.

"Damn, you're strange," he muttered as he poured another capful and emptied it on her biggest wound - about the size of a golden snitch. It hissed and bubbled, and her thin muscles tensed as she bit through the pain. The stuff seemed downright foul, going against every magical cell in his body, everything. Remedies were supposed to make one feel good - she wasn't growing a spine or anything like that.

He took the remnant of her old, bloody shirt, wet it, and wiped at her skin gingerly. The wounds looked awful - wet and slimy, and even a little gritty. He picked a few obvious bits of dirt out of them with his fingers, stifling a gag.

When he'd finished, he capped the brown bottle quickly and took up the bandages - big white patches. Her lesions were still bubbling, and were juiced with clear slime. "Ugh," he said as he ripped the backing off one bandage and put it on, smoothing the edges and patting the center lightly. The juicy wound bled through the white, staining it amber.

She could feel his disgust more than she could hear it, and somehow it irritated her. "Yeah, yeah, I know I'm gross. You'll have your pretty pureblood fingers back soon."

He was beyond his comfort zone, afraid to touch her wounds too much, regardless of not being above the strange muggle method. Of all the things he'd touched, from blast-ended skrewts to frog eyes, this was the grossest. And he'd had his fair share of gross - Weaslette's bat-boogey hex was not to be trifled with.

And what was worse, he could feel his own cheeks redden as he touched her. He could feel her breasts move, and visually see the curve, see the smoothness of the skin around the holes. He suddenly wished very desperately for the cover of darkness.

"That," he said heavily when he finished, "was the  _worst_. Ever.  _Never_  ask me to do something like that again."

"I..." Hermione started, but trailed off.

He heard the unfinished sentence in her pause anyway. She could have shouted it in his ear for the deafening silence it caused.

"That stuff is making me... sick," he said quietly. He needed to get away from her, away from her pulled up shirt that she had forgotten about, away from her smelly muggle chemical, her awkward silence. Her smooth skin and red lips.

Loss rushed over her as his footsteps faded and stopped on the other side of the boat. She gulped in some air and fumbled with the edge of her shirt.

* * *

"What's wrong with that?"

Hermione shook her head. "I'm usually smarter than this," she whispered back.

Tim nodded, quietly turning his head on his flat pillow. "How bad is it, do you think?"

"It... it could be bad. I don't even... I can't even identify it. But I know the general feeling is how it starts. How all of that drama starts."

"And are you so... opposed to feeling this way?"

Now how was she going to answer that? Leave it to a stranger to assess her situation so well. She didn't even know what she was dealing with here. "I'm not supposed to. I'm supposed to hate him, want nothing to do with him. Now I feel like he's ripped me away, and I have to claw my way back."

It was Tim's turn to shake his head.

So that companionship she'd felt was probably not the same as it was with her friends... because her relationship with her friends was not the same. That's the way it seemed.

And then she had asked, why? Why was it so different? She didn't hate Draco exactly - he definitely had a knack for pissing her off, but that's all it was at this point. She'd gotten used to him. So then why was she feeling like this? She couldn't get him out of the corner of her thoughts now. That emotion she'd felt as he'd walked away, like he was pulling something away from her, dragging her lungs on a chain behind him...

"I think you're thinking too much about it. Does that make sense?"

Hermione nodded slowly. "I have reason to be afraid." Thank goodness Tim couldn't see her eyes in the darkness, or anyone else for that matter; besides their utter blackness, he'd be able to see her doubt. He shared a room with half of the crew, which is where she and Draco were sleeping as well. Draco sat slumped against a wall near the door, his cot untouched.

"Why?"

She shrugged, causing her blanket to slide a bit. "I've got someone... back in London. And this was how that started, seven years ago."

"Seven years ago... that puts you at early teens, I suppose. This will be different. You've gotten older now."

"I don't want it to  _be_  anything."

Time sighed and turned over. "Sometimes fighting something makes it stronger. Besides, don't overthink it. Whatever will be, will be."

"Thanks, Tim."

On the other side of the room, Draco Malfoy rubbed his arm, wondering what Hermione was whispering about.


	10. Like Obsidian

_"Sometimes in order to see the light you have to risk the dark." - Minority Report (2002)_

* * *

Frank didn't ask much of them. Hermione he only said hello to, and otherwise allowed her to roam from the top deck to below, where the cots, kitchen, bathroom, and even the cargo was. They'd stopped at a port city for a day, getting more supplies and food, but neither Hermione nor Draco left the ship.

None of the other members of the crew really talked to them besides Tim, who seemed to be running the show besides Frank; Tim was more organized than Frank, so he dealt with the paperwork and the scheduling while Frank made the business. The other members of the ship just shot them sympathetic looks, nodding approvingly as the color returned to their cheeks.

Tim made idle conversation when the day's work was mostly done or left to the other hands. The conversation was usually directed towards Hermione since Draco wasn't the most talkative of people.

Now that Draco had an opportunity to be away from her for more than a minute, he took full advantage of it, sitting on the opposite side of where ever she was and finding himself on deck while she was below or vice-versa.

At the moment, he could care less where she was.

He'd gotten them into this mess, really, and once again he had to tell himself to follow through. But that didn't obligate him to spend time with her; she was probably enjoying the space as well, though he didn't really like Tim talking to her so much.

"Why does she always wear those sunglasses?"

Draco shook his head, staring out at the water. He had probably given Tim the impression that he was ill-tempered and silent; he didn't really intend to change that.

"I think we should get her some aviators when we get to Bergen. She'd look great in them, I reckon."

"She's blind," Draco said flatly. "I don't want people staring at her."

Tim was silently surprised for a few good minutes, and Draco went back to concentrating on the water.

"Why would people stare?"

Draco shook his head. Tim was not irritating in his kindly personality to most, but Draco did not really like nice people. They tended to grate his nerves. "Take a look at her eyes - she looks like a freak."

"She can't look bad enough to be called that!"

"Her eyes are black, like obsidian. Ask her to take the glasses off for you; I'm sure she'd hesitate to oblige. She knows that she's a freak." Draco turned away from the water and walked away, leaving the blond man to stare after him.

"And she actually likes this guy!" he said, shaking his head.

* * *

_It seemed that only crisis could bring true feelings out of his parents. They'd stood idly by while he became a menace. They'd showed nothing when he'd become a Death Eater. But the second his life was put in danger so very obviously, and in the very last chance either of them had to show their love, his mother had finally stepped out of herself long enough to care. And he was suddenly the strings that held her together._

_And then, there was nothing more than that; the voice he'd hated, filled with false love, turned glaringly real in his ears._

_He didn't hesitate to gobble it up. He hadn't realized how wonderful it would taste._

_He saw a bit of it in his father as well. It usually came in small, scrumptious doses that Draco took in reluctantly at first, and then without hesitation. It usually happened when he was reprimanded during training or when the Dark Lord - who had a thing for toying with emotions, even among his own outfit - would taunt him or make snide comments, lightly, that were anything but light in nature. His father could not always maintain his business-like mask at these times, and it had gotten him into trouble. But among the sudden family bond, Draco missed life before, where he could be alone to do as he wished._

_Being a Death Eater wasn't his life's goal... it was merely a means to an end - to be accepted in the only way he was able, the only way his father could really be proud of him._

_He'd wanted Draco to not only be just like him, but to be the quintessential image of him._

* * *

"I've got a lot of news," Harry started tiredly, throwing his rucksack on the ground and loosening his collar. Ginny took his cloak silently and hugged him, long and hard.

"Go on, then," Ron sighed, gesturing.

"I'll say the bad news first then. It seems that the Death Eater's hideout was not in Gravekeeper's Cove like we suspected. Now we had to begin to look outside of Europe."

"Why would they not have their hideout in Europe? Half the wizard population lives here, along with some of the - "

"We're trying Africa next, pinpointing Egypt," Harry continued, talking over Ron's rant. "There is a large black market there for dark materials and magic artifacts; they perhaps moved closer to potential suppliers."

Ginny thrusted her glass of firewhiskey into his hands. He immediately took a sip, cringing against the spicy whiskey taste. He swallowed, his throat burning. "Also, there was a break-in in the Department of Mysteries. Several doors were forced, and things were taken from the Hall of Prophecy and the Hall of Growth."

Ginny shuddered. "What would they want in the Hall of Growth?"

Harry shook his head, and then downed the rest of his drink, trying not to gag as it seemed to have been slightly too much. "They took a few spellbooks. They took also a prophecy; one of the ones that hadn't been cataloged yet, down one of the last rows. Nora is really afraid of what they want with it. You know how much she hates prophecies."

Ron nodded. This didn't even sound so bad to him. "What's the good news?"

Harry took a deep breath. "We think we know where Hermione is."

Relief washed over Ron.

"We think she's in France. The Auror search party found some more of Hermione's wand in one of the forests there. Hermione is leaving us a breadcrumb trail, as we thought. We're now working with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to try to track where they are."

"What if the Death Eaters  _want_  us to think that she is in France? What if they planted that?"

Harry looked at at Ron. "Nora assured me of this. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement uses more muggle methods than it does wizard ones; no other fingerprints were on the wand except for hers. Death Eaters overlook such things."

He didn't really know what fingerprints had to do with where Hermione was, but he trusted Harry enough to know what he was talking about. Harry had been a muggle longer than he had been a wizard. "Okay. France, then."

"She's not going to stay there for long, though. Malfoy is probably moving quickly, where ever he's taking her... and that's the one thing we can't seem to figure out yet - whether he is working for the Death Eaters or against them. They've tried to kill both of them at least once."

"Well, let's hope for the best; I'm sick of dealing with Death Eaters."

"Aren't we all?" Kingsley said, entering the room. The group straightened up at his sudden appearance; there were only two reasons why he would come directly to the Weasley house to talk to them. Either he found something else out, or... something bad had happened.

"What's going on?"

"I need the other piece of Hermione's wand. We need to repair it to see what spell she used last."

Harry nodded and got up to retrieve the wand.

Ron bristled. "I'm really about to give up on this whole thing."

"Don't, Ron. I know this is stressful - "

" _Stressful?_ " Ron kicked the edge of the couch, causing it to jump and thump back against the hardwood floor.

" - but everyone is looking for her. You know that."

"People don't just disappear! "

"All we have is a direction, a general area. But this is enough to warrant a bigger search team, Ronald. Besides that, we have nothing."

"WHY? ARE WE WIZARDS OR NOT?"

"It's never that simple. We can't, under the law, track people like that. We don't even know how."

* * *

"Okay. So are you really going to help me bring them down?"

"Yes. But I'm not doing it for you."

Draco shrugged. "That's fine; I don't care who you do it for. But if we're going to do this, you're going to have to follow a few rules. One, do not tell  _anyone._ Not even the muggles." Draco had long since realized that she'd had an opportunity to escape when Frank had invited them to the boat. Though her attention might have been focused on the fact that she had secured them a ride, there were enough people around to warrant a relatively pain free escape from him.

Hermione rolled her eyes, though she knew he couldn't tell. The only indication of her eyes moving came from a light shift in the white reflection. "Obviously. I know that one already."

"Two, you do not dictate all the time. This is still my mission - "

" - Says the genius as if the whole idea wasn't plagiarized - "

" - and I still can't trust you with a wand. You'll have to earn that."

"What? You can't be serious! What the heck am I supposed to do then, shoot them?"

Draco stared. "With what?"

"My point exactly! I don't know where to get a gun, and it better be a pretty big damned gun!"

 _Oh, guns_. "Do you think those muggle metal spitters will do any harm against them?"

"So am I supposed to come at them with my bare hands? I can't even see!"

"Well, in that case, maybe we  _can_ get you some muggle weapons."

Hermione didn't think that that was funny.

"There are antidotes to the Noctulous Blindness, though none of them are offered by healers here. The only place that I know of that has the technology... is probably China."

"Figures," Hermione grumbled. "It'd have to be halfway across the world."

"In the meantime, I need you to do your best. I need your help not because of the superior skills you have or anything like that; I need it so you can stay out of my way and help me."

Hermione hated her darkness. She hated the world she couldn't see. And most of all, she hated that this Noctulous Blindness had come to her at the worst possible time. "Alright, then."

Draco nodded. "Good."

"But one thing," she said dangerously. "I may be blind, but I'm not dumb. I need you to listen to me – I've actually gone into hiding before, and I know a lot that can help us."

Draco stifled a groan.


	11. Alive and Well

_"It is the weak who are cruel; gentleness can only be expected from the strong." - Leo Rosten_

* * *

Bergen was a beautiful city that had a kind of wizarding flair to it; the air was very different from that of any cities in England, and Draco breathed it in happily. They might actually be safe now.

Draco tried not to think about what Frank had said to him earlier; it had made him uncomfortable.

"You don't have any family or friends here." It had not been a question.

"No. Hermione and I are running from someone."

Frank had nodded slowly, watching the crew members offload some unremarkable wooden crates. "I could have guessed that. I'd be rotten if I didn't offer you a place to stay, wouldn't I?"

Draco had not been planning to stay in civilization; he had been planning to get lost in the hills and mountains in Norway, putting a land barrier between himself and the Death Eaters still searching for the two of them.

"You offer too much," he'd said. "We really shouldn't burden you further."

"Nonsense. I have a great house, and we never have guests. My wife will be pleased."

Draco had bowed his head slightly. "Thank you very much."

"At any rate, we should worry about such things later. How's about you give us a hand in the meantime?"

He wondered why Frank was so foolishly kind.

Hermione was the last of the cargo to be offloaded. He'd found her replacing one of the bandages just below her collarbone, peeling the old, dirty bandage off carefully and rubbing off the sticky residue around the edges.

"We're staying with Frank, apparently."

Hermione had said nothing; she'd just felt around for the wrappers she had discarded, stuffing the used bandage into her jacket pocket to be discarded later.

Now that they were in the city, he took a good look around through the windows of the car, taking in the beautiful scenery of the harbor and the hills beyond. With the cargo going to a separate location, Draco and Hermione were being driven to Frank's house by Tim. He smiled at them in the rear view mirror as he went on about Norwegian currency, only stopping when he realized that even Hermione wasn't paying attention to him.

"Isn't Frank wonderful?" he began again.

Draco nodded, adding another notch to the number of times Tim had said those exact words. He was up to six. "Maybe too much so."

Tim shook his head at this, scanning the cars around him at the traffic light. "No one can be too kind. He makes it his goal... in order to make up for things he's done in the past. I say we all make mistakes, but he thinks that his mistakes could have been avoided. It makes him too careful."

Draco glanced at Hermione - she was being unusually quiet for this sort of talk. Her head was against the window, her glasses in her lap. He realized then how dingy the both of them looked.

"That's why I'm around… I make sure we're not taken advantage of. He likes to please people no matter what."

Frank's house was rather large, located in one of the many suburban areas surrounding the city. It wasn't nearly the size of Draco's manor, but it was big enough that he didn't wrinkle his nose. Hermione felt her way out of the car, taking in the crisp breeze and the sound of the trees.

"Frank's wife is Sasha; the two daughters are Amelia and Jessika, or Jesse and Amy. Mrs. Worthington!"

A thin woman with grey brown hair embraced Tim; she was nearly as tall as him. She had a thick white streak stemming from one of her temples and long, bony fingers; despite her deep laugh lines and crinkly eyes, she looked to be quite an attractive woman. "I'm always glad to have you Tim; Jess is in the courtyard. And who are your guests?"

Tim turned toward Draco and Hermione. "Yes, excuse me - this is Draco and Hermione."

Sasha smiled warmly at them. "You must be the couple Frank spoke about this morning on the phone." Hermione blushed horribly. "Welcome; my name is Sasha. What brings you to Norway?"

Draco bristled slightly at the assumption that they were a couple, but Frank had said Sasha was from Bath, which was Draco's favorite place to visit. He had a very friendly uncle there. "We sailed with your husband. He took us in; we needed a lift."

"Thank you very much for your kindness," Hermione said, speaking for the first time that day. She gave a slight bow, nearly in the wrong direction. Draco turned her a bit, unconsciously drawing her into his arm.

"Hermione. What a lovely name for such a lovely girl." Hermione smiled under her sunglasses, though she knew she looked anything but lovely at the moment.

When they were inside, Draco took in the white decor while Sasha readied them a place to sleep; Tim had snuck off somewhere in the direction of the back of the house.

"You haven't any trunks or baggage?"

Draco shook his head and indicated the bag slung over his shoulder. Hermione stuck close to his side, obviously afraid to break anything.

Sasha nodded sadly, looking down at the bed she had just tidied. She cleared her throat and continued. "Well, in the mornings, if you want more room, the bed folds up into a couch. The cushions are in the closet... dinner will be ready at about 5:00; Frank should be home by then. In the meantime, go ahead and relax. We're going to  _Galleriet_  tomorrow if you'd like to come."

Draco's mouth quirked into a small smile. He wondered what  _Galleriet_  was. "Thank you."

He glanced around at the muggle room. It had kind of a muggle... smell to it. He wondered when he would get to go outside to the city, which was more his style. Now that they were somewhat safe, he wanted a bit of freedom.

"I want a proper bath," Hermione said, detaching herself, arms stretched before her. "What's the room like?"

Draco decided to leave out the part that there was only one bed. "It's white... and very muggle-like."

"And there's only one bed."

The back of his neck became hot. "Yes."

Hermione nodded carefully and felt for the door frame to the bathroom, managing to find the closet instead. Draco silently steered her into the bathroom and turned the shower on before walking out. Her company in this closed little room was suffocating him after being alone with himself for nearly a week; awkwardness had joined them once again.

* * *

Draco turned from inspecting a print of a famous painting. There was a girl standing behind him; she looked about fifteen and had a mess of dyed cherry red hair. She said something in Norwegian, and he quirked an eyebrow.

"Oh, you're the... guest we're having." Her sudden blush was not lost on him.

"Draco," he said, extending a hand. She took it softly, only giving it a bit of a squeeze before letting go.

"Amy."

He nodded and turned back to the portrait. Who had painted this? He had the original in his room at the manor.

"So um... what brings you here?"

Draco shook his head. What was it with muggles? Did they really enjoy idle conversation so much? And what was he going to answer that with? He opted for a shrug, deciding to tell a half truth. "I'm being chased by psychotic murderers." He looked directly into her eyes to let her think that he wasn't serious; his eyes were piercing.

"Well yeah... okay." She rushed away determinedly. Draco resisted the urge to smirk. _She will learn how to deal with smoothies like me._

The "courtyard" that Sasha had spoken of was more of a garden than a courtyard; the grassy nature of it gave it more the feel of a courtyard however, as well as the light grey square in the center of it. A woman in her mid twenties was sitting in the grass with what looked to be a sheathed sword in her lap. Tim was sitting across from her, his eyes smiling.

Draco decided to avoid that introduction for now in favor of searching for Sasha; all this hospitality and kindness was making him a little sick and uncomfortable. He felt that he needed to pay them back somehow.

He found Sasha in the kitchen, a grey cat rubbing against her ankles as she chopped vegetables.

"Hello dear. How is your lady friend doing?"

"She's in the shower. I plan to go in next."

Sasha smiled at him with the same note of sadness she'd had earlier, dumping some peppers into a bowl and turning to a discarded onion bulb. "That's all good and well. It's nice to have some company when Frank is at work; my daughters tend to avoid my nagging and prying."

She finished chopping the celery and added that to the bowl, along with something that looked like shredded cheese. She had the practiced hands of a woman who had been cooking and cleaning for many years. Draco liked to separate the roles of women, men, and servants, so seeing her do this made his nose twitch a bit. He almost felt bad about that fact.

"What are you making?" he asked to keep up conversation (as he was learning to do in the presence of muggles), his eyes on the grey cat that was now coming towards him.

"Tortellini alfredo, Frank's favorite. Nice and heavy." Draco nodded, though he had no idea what tortellini was.

"What's her name?" Draco reached down to the cat at his feet, letting it sniff his fingers gently, decide that he was all right, and put its head against his hand.

"Loki. She likes you."

Draco actually liked cats quite a bit - they tended to understand him on some mysterious level. He scratched the cat behind the ears.

* * *

She had no need to speak to him. In fact, she didn't know if she could without betraying her thoughts.

_Just remember - your thoughts are not safe around me._

He had broken into her mind back there, when they had been cornered by the Death Eater. He'd told her to retrieve the wand out of his pocket. He'd called her Hermione, and he'd sounded pleasant.

In her mind, he had almost sounded normal.

She had been waiting for him to try it again now that they were back on solid ground.

What was the magic behind such a trick? There were strict laws against telepathy in the wizarding world; it was one of the laws that could only be suspended during wartime. Besides, telepathy wasn't the same thing as what she had felt back there. It was more like... his soul was speaking. She couldn't hear the words as much as she could feel them; she understood them as emotions and intentions more than words.

Telepathy leaves a trail anyway, and could not be engaged in unless a certain spell is performed with the other person. The spell itself is illegal to perform without a Ministry official present; privacy rights apparently had something to do with that.

She wondered if this different magic was how, a year before, the Death Eaters had found her and her friends when they were miles away from Bill and Fleur's wedding.

Feeling around for the shower nobs, she turned them until the water sounds stopped... oh yes, this was why she had been in the shower for twenty minutes:

She didn't want to face that room... with that one bed. She didn't want to think about later in the day, didn't want to hyperventilate because she had no idea what time it was and how many hours she had left before she had to face it...

She couldn't even be happy about the fact that she was once again in civilization, and once again had others, besides Draco, to talk to. They were in a large city, a  _very_  large city, and it would be impossible to find them here; she had wanted that as well.

So what would he do? Would he make her sleep on the floor? Would he demand that she sleep on the bed because of her injuries as some ploy to make her uncomfortable and thus unable to sleep? After all, there was no way Draco Malfoy would let his delicate little arse touch a carpeted floor, much less a wood one. She'd have back pain in the morning, and would probably be cold all night... the possibilities looked grim. What ever the case, one thing was certain - he would never do anything to show that he cared about her.

A towel had been placed on the toilet sometime during her shower; it hadn't been there when she'd tripped over the thing earlier.


	12. It's Dangerous Business Walking Out Your Front Door

_"The mind is its own place, and in itself_

_Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven."_   _\- John Milton,_ _Paradise Lost_

* * *

Hermione struggled with toweling off her hair, knowing that her usual method - rub the towel all around - was going to be more troublesome than semi-wet hair. Now she remembered what it was like to be blind, what it was like to move around a foreign place without any idea where she was going. During the ride on the boat, Hermione had basically felt her way to four places - the kitchen, the bathroom, the cargo hold, and the top deck. She had just begun to feel comfortable moving around the boat when they arrived in Bergen. When she thought of Norway she did not immediately think of Bergen; in fact, she didn't know much about the country at all, besides the fact that it was mountainous and beautiful. She tried not to think about that, because she would not be enjoying the sights anytime soon.

She did not need to be reminded of what she was without. Traveling was something she had always wanted to do; she couldn't bear the thought that the one chance she got to travel, she couldn't see the scenery.

"... Hermione?" It was Sasha's voice. Hermione opened her eyes, earning a gasp and a few seconds of silence.

Cursing silently, Hermione automatically bowed her head in embarrassment and shame. Her rashness about the sunglasses had frightened her host.

"... Are you blind, dear?"

She nodded, trying not to acknowledge the tightening of her throat and the prickling of her eyes. She hadn't had an opportunity to talk to someone about her condition. She suspected that Tim knew, but he hadn't said anything to her.

Arms circled her shoulders, wrapping her in a hug that smelled of rosemary and muggle lotion. "I'm sorry, honey."

Hermione nodded again, knowing she was going to cry. She was finally getting the comfort that she had wanted from the beginning, finally being allowed her release. She wouldn't dare cry in front of Draco, whether he was asleep or away or not.

"What's going on, Mum?"

"Nothing, Jesse. Hermione here is going to help me make dinner. Would you like that, honey?"

She was five years old again, being consoled for scraping her knee; she couldn't fathom the strangeness of her first impression with Frank's family. She nodded again, trying to wipe her bottomless eyes.

She felt Draco enter the room, coming from behind her and the direction of where she had stumbled from. She pushed down her panicked breaths as she thought about herself clambering around the little room, knocking into corners and trying to dry her skin and hair. Hadn't she been naked at some point in there? Why hadn't he made his presence known to warn her? Instead of feeling the disgust that she knew she should have felt, her attempts to suck up her tears turned into embarrassment.

Draco crossed his arms. "What happened?"

Sasha shook her head. "Nothing to worry about." She ushered Hermione into the kitchen, where the smell of thick cream sauce and pepper made her lift her head. She stood there, silently trying to collect herself while Sasha stirred the tortellini and watched as they floated to the top of the boiling water. Minutes passed; Hermione was grateful for the companionable silence and the knowledge that she finally had company. She hated being weak; she was supposed to be a strong person.

"I don't want to pry," Sasha began.

"It's a long story," Hermione said quietly.

"Well, we've oodles of time, because I am  _not_  letting you out of my sight in your condition; that poor lad definitely had his hands full with you." Hermione's heart twisted a bit. She hated being a burden, even on Draco.

"Thank you for your concern."

"Of course. Now how did it happen?"

"I... was being chased down. They were going to kidnap me - this organization - and get information out of me in order to disrupt our government... Draco saved me from them, and we went into hiding. They blinded me for it."

Sasha shrugged, her face worrisome and frowning, as she stirred the sauce quickly. "That wasn't too long."

"Well, it's not that simple... Draco used to be a part of this terrorist group, but they imprisoned him because they doubted his loyalty. He escaped and is seeking revenge. We're going to expose them and put them to justice." Hearing their mission out loud made it seem preposterous, like something out of an adventure novel staring the two young heroes as they embarked on a dangerous journey to rid the world of evil. Hermione was Frodo Baggins, and Draco was Samwise Gamgee. She was Luke Skywalker, and he was Han Solo.

Well, considering her blindness, all of that was probably the other way around. Hermione Granger, the smart girl that she was, was once again reduced to sidekick status. It wasn't a new thing, though during her journey with Harry it had been difficult to bear. And this was different:

This was two people against the world. They had  _no one_ to help them, no one crazy enough to join them. Not even the Order, not even the Ministry.

"Do you like tortellini?"

"What?"

"I asked if you liked tortellini."

Hermione wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve. "Yes. What kind did you make?"

"Cheese, of course. The meat ones don't always cook right when I make them from scratch."

Hermione nodded. She hadn't talked about cooking with anyone in years; she wasn't really sure how to.

"Oi, Mum."

"Jess. This is Hermione." Hermione faced the direction of Jesse's voice.

Jesse was tall and thin like her mother, with unremarkable brown hair sheared off below her shoulders and a strong chin. Her voice sounded older than her twenty four years; while Hermione saw none of Jesse, she felt as though she were standing in the presence of a wise and responsible adult.

Jesse took her hand and squeezed it by pressing her thumbs into Hermione's palm; the girl's hands were rough. Hermione stumbled a bit as Jesse's arm around her shoulder caught her off-guard.

"Dinner is almost ready. Jess, would you mind stirring the sauce for me? I've got my hands full of colander."

* * *

Everything was less than before. He just hadn't seen it when she first disappeared.

France, Nora had said. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was combing the area, searching for her. They had some leads, some dead ends. A new piece of evidence here, some identity confirmations there.

It was too confusing, too taxing. Harry was going to explode.

There was a knock on the door, and then a creaking as Ginny stepped in.

She was the first example. He hadn't realized how much Ginny cared about Hermione until she went missing; Ginny's once fiery eyes had dulled, and her skin had ceased to glow. Without warning, the girl sat on the bed next to him and threw her arms around his shoulders. He didn't realize that she was kissing him for several seconds. "Make this go away," she whispered against his neck after he'd pried himself away enough to breathe. "Make me feel alive. I don't want to feel like this anymore."

"If I knew how - "

"I think you know." Her eyes regained some fire. They were almost black in the gloom.

Harry's breath caught. Yes, he did know. "The circumstances - "

"Make it weird, I know. I just want to forget for a little while. Make it go away."

As tempting as that sounded, Harry knew an invitation to escape when he heard one. He'd done that too many times to not see it now. He calmly removed her from his lap, knowing that she would be hurt by the gesture.

"My mind isn't right," he said. "I'm sick from this too. But we have to power through it."

"I don't want to power through it. I want to escape. I want to forget,  _obliviate_. I want to have her back and this to be over and her to lecture me about my crappy arithmancy skills and laugh about Ron. I want to braid her hair while she reads some huge book about some obscure charm from the Middle Ages. I want her to smile knowingly at us..."

"... And you want Draco Malfoy to bleed."

She nodded, her face now in his shirt. Ginny was not the crying type. It was a rare thing to comfort her like this.

"It's not him," Harry murmured, almost to himself. "If he was her enemy, then she'd be dead and he'd pop up on the radar again. Besides, the Death Eaters see him as an enemy now."

His voice had taken on the logical quality it had when ever he tried to puzzle out some mystery or contemplate intentions and culprits. " _Shut it._  I don't want to hear logic. It makes too much sense; I just want to fantasize about his death and be done."

He shook his head. "It doesn't work that way."

Ginny sniffed and leaned away from him. "You're really bad at this comforting thing."

"I know."

"I just want to be the weak little kid for a while. It makes me feel better."

Harry could understand that. He'd been strong his entire life, bottling up anger and sadness and fear, pushing it all aside in order to do what he had to do. He had priorities, and those never included his emotions. "Me too."

They sat in silence, Ginny staring, unseeing, at her feet.

What else had affected them so? Not even Sirius' death created so much gloom. He wondered at this. Why was it that he missed Hermione so much, like a piece of him was removed and carried away by a conniving prat with blond hair?

Because he was guilty.

Yes, guilty of forgetting about her, guilty of taking advantage of her and her knowledge. Guilty of underestimating her and under-appreciating her.

Now where was she? Gone, and now they knew of the loss. Aunt Petunia had once said that everything happens for a reason. Harry had always said if that was the case, she shouldn't yell at him so much; nothing happened for a reason. Things happened because not everyone in the world had the kind of morals they had.

"Wait; you want to be a weak little kid?"

Harry looked up at her. She had been staring at him, a note of mirth in her eyes. He allowed himself a smile. "That's not what I said."

"I'm pretty sure you said 'me too.'"

"I'm pretty sure you have it confused."

Ginny crossed her arms, her mouth twisting into a smirk. "I'm pretty sure you can't own up to it."

"I'm pretty sure... your face."

She laughed an actual laugh, and the sound was musical, breaking through the heavy air. Harry grinned. "See? I made you feel better." It was a start. They would have to go from there, because even though he did not want to lose hope... there was always that possibility that they'd be forever waiting for Hermione to come back to them.

* * *

Dinner was wonderful; the tortellini dish that Sasha had made was a hit, filling them up nicely. Frank looked especially grateful as he dug into his third helping; food on the ship had consisted mainly of bread and canned soup with some fresh fruit in the mornings, depending on the number of days away from land. Tim wasn't a believer in great eating on a smuggling ship.

Jesse and Amy conversed in French for a bit as Jesse tested the other girl on vocabulary; Tim kept Hermione occupied with talk about the scenery. So Draco was left staring at his plate as he chewed.

Something about this house made him sad. It might have been the family in it and their collection of family portraits and pictures on the walls; it might have been the lightness of the air or the ease of everyone's smiles. He hadn't been around this kind of thing since... since Hogwarts.

The world had gone on existing while his life had turned to shit.

Draco looked up to watch the family, see how it operated, see what made it happy. Why did these parents love their kids? Why was Sasha so smitten with her daughters? Amy looked like a troublemaker; she had bright cherry hair and thick black eyeliner under an eyebrow piercing; as she began to speak English he discovered that she had a tongue piercing as well. Jesse, who was pretty though not in a conventional way, looked almost like Hermione in her uptight-ness. Frank, as Draco knew, was hard to approach but almost foolishly generous when presented with an opportunity to help. Sasha reminded Draco strongly of Weasley's mum; she had the same kind of motherly air to her.

What was it that held this family together? Was this considered normal?

"So I was watching the show on the telly about cattle farms - you know the guy who does the dirty jobs?"

"The show is called 'Dirty Jobs'."

"Shut it. Anyway, they treat the cows like little princesses! They load them up onto a carousel and put food in front of them, and then hook this machine up to the utters. And the cows were all like, 'mooo' - "

"And they actually shook their heads like that, too? You watch too much TV."

"No I don't. You're going to run someone through with that sword one day."

"Hopefully I'll get the chance. There are people out there who deserve it." Jesse glanced at Hermione, who was once again wearing sunglasses. Hermione must have told her about how she became blind. Draco turned to Hermione.

"This isn't a field trip, remember."

Whatever she had been about to say didn't come out. She turned in his direction. "I know that. Forgive me for trying to escape from everything for a nice, warm dinner with a wonderful family." Her slight emphasis on the word  _warm_  was not lost on him. Surely she wasn't being snotty about the bread and water they had eaten before Frank had taken them in?

Draco shook his head. "I wasn't talking about that. We have to get you cured, meaning that we need to find a way to get to China."

"An airplane would be the obvious thing."

Draco grumbled something about "muggle flying cans."

"I suppose you have a better way, then?"

He didn't, of course. "We'll figure something out."

After dinner, everyone went their separate ways. Amy went to her room and started blaring music; Jesse went back outside despite the growing darkness. Tim said his goodbyes to Frank and Sasha, then left in his car.

Draco was temporarily relieved of his guard-duty of Hermione as Sasha treated Hermione's wounds a little better, replacing the bandages and cleaning the scabs with some more muggle chemicals. Hermione had ripped off the old bandages before her shower; the hot, torrential water had pealed off some of the scabs. Draco resolved to give her some panacea sap after she was done.

Suddenly he remembered why he'd been dreading coming back into the room.

"Thank you very much, Sasha," Hermione said as the older woman steered her into the room. "The old ones were gross."

"No problem dear... you two sleep well. Breakfast is at nine."

She felt Draco in the room and felt the tenseness in the air. The air was thick with some kind of horrifying thought, and if she was not mistaken, they were completely on the same page now.

Hermione jumped as the door slammed, and she was left alone with him.


	13. Shifted Dimensions

_"Perception creates our reality." - Ethel Diamond_

* * *

What was she to say to him? What were they to say to each other?

This was the type of thing that people like them - long time enemies, thrust together with a common goal - should never have to deal with. She would be exploding into a million pieces any second now.

He hadn't moved either. The air was still, as if the furnishings were holding their breath as they watched the two.

What would it mean if she were to speak first? It seemed like he had been dreading the moment as well. Would he pounce on her for thinking about such a thing as the fact that there is only one bed for them to sleep in? Was there a chair somewhere in the room that she would be curling up in? When they were on the boat, Draco had moved his cot next to the door as to be as far away from her as possible, and then not even slept on the thing. And they'd had a limited amount of space to deal with - it hadn't been the biggest of boats. What did that mean now? Would it be the same situation - he wouldn't want her sleeping anywhere near him?

He was breathing, she realized. She could hear him breathing. He wasn't just some wallpaper in her life, some texture to listen to and fear, ignore and hate. He was actually there, breathing, moving, standing behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders as he steered her towards the bed.

Involuntarily, her breath caught. What? What was he doing? Was he taking her jacket off?

As the fabric slid to the floor, Draco made no move to catch it; his hands lingered on her arms briefly.

"Get some sleep. I'm going to take a walk."

She didn't move, only sitting when he applied pressure to the back of her neck. She couldn't hear anything besides her own heart as it resonated in her body. She could feel the force of it move her slightly on the covers -  _thump thump, thump thump, thump thump..._

He was gone.

The breath she had been holding never came out. She lay down, still wearing the rest of her clothes, still shoeless, still wounded.  _Still Hermione_.

What had she been hoping?

She was crying now, wishing that her heart would stop beating so loudly, wishing that she could breathe better; her lungs wouldn't fill with enough air to supply the rest of her body, let alone her heart. She had wanted something, anything, to take up the space that she had reserved for the fight that would be a prelude to getting sleep. She had pictured his idiotic argument, and then her decisive counterargument, and the agreement that followed. She hadn't expected to be left alone.

And why did it matter? She got what she wanted - a place to sleep without him making her feel like shit... except that wasn't exactly true.

By leaving her like that, he'd done something. He'd crushed her a bit.

Whatever other thoughts she had, about hoping that perhaps he would be okay with sleeping with her, she tried not to think about. Contemplating the things she tried to brush away just made it even harder to stop the blockage in her throat.

* * *

Draco rounded the corner, stumbling, his heart thumping.

Now he understood why the room had felt so distinctly muggle like. It had nothing to do with the fact that it was a muggle house - it had everything to do with her.

He'd always felt so careful around muggles, so wary of them. The entire secrecy of his world's existence weighed on his shoulders when he was around them. The magical world made him feel free.

Around Hermione it was the same way - he was careful. He was wary of her. He felt the need to hide from her.

But somehow, he was realizing that he wanted to be near her. It was like the cells in his body were drawn to her, like gravity. Despite trying to escape, she was pulling him in. And it was getting harder to resist.

He shook this thought away as he came to stand before the sliding glass door that opened into the smooth darkness of the garden. "'Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary...'" he quoted under his breath.

He wanted to blame this on magic. Some dirty muggleborn trick, it was; being around them too much made you ache. Some kind of... spell or something.

But no, that wasn't right.

Then she had to be manipulating him somehow; why was he even thinking about spending time with her, being himself? He wasn't even sure who he really was, even when he was alone. Besides, with his mask in place and his emotions thoroughly buried, he could concentrate on his goal and treat her the same way he always had.

However… even though he was always harassing her, she didn't do the same to him.

She was mean sometimes, but it felt so… hollow. Expected. Like she didn't know what else to do, how else to interact. Like she was mirroring his shittiness back at him. He suspected that though his normal mode of communication was to be short, sarcastic, and sometimes just plain childish, hers wasn't. What would happen if he stopped being that way?

If he stripped that away… what was left? What was he so afraid of, anyway?

Maybe the world made him wary, made him careful. Life made him too careful. But with her, if stopped hiding his emotions…

No, not gonna happen.

That's it then. He had to stay away from her.

As he turned away from the door, he thought he saw a flash of blue light coming from the backyard; when he glanced back, Jesse was sheathing her sword.

* * *

He'd lain down on the bed sometime while she was sleeping. He'd tucked her under the covers.

And he'd probably seen the tear stains on her cheeks, her red blushed nose, the pink circles framing her eyes.

She knew what she looked like when she cried - it was not a pretty sight. Crying made her feel... distinctly ugly.

Waking up, she could tell that he wasn't in the room. She felt the spot next to her, smoothing her hand over the flattened sheets and upturned comforter beside her. Yes, he had slept in the bed last night.

A part of her mind shouted a loud curse. She had missed it, with her crying and her exhausted, black sleep.  _Missed it_.

Perhaps it was just as well. What would she have done if she had felt him climb in beside her? Would she have been unable to sleep, being too aware of the heat radiating off his body? For such a prick, he really was warm. She had, when they were still in the forests in Scotland, rather have curled up against his chest than lie down on the damp foliage.

"Mum sent me in to help you get ready. Do you have a clean pair of pants? A shirt?"

It took Hermione a couple seconds to process that someone had come in and asked her a question. Jesse waited.

Hermione shook her head slowly. "I don't think so."

"I thought as much... here are some of my clothes. They were mine a few years ago; they should fit you fine. I'm quite a bit taller than you." There was a smile in her voice.

Hermione really liked these people; either they were the way that humans were supposed to be, or she really did still look terrible. "It's not hard to be."

Jesse dressed her with patient hands, not seeming too repulsed by her grotesque scabs and bruises or shy about her naked form. Hermione however was one to cover herself up; the sunlight on her bare skin made her feel vulnerable. She was more of a winter type, the type of girl that tended to have a better glow when it was snowy. Rainy cold made her look sick and gray, and sunlight made her look like a boiled egg.

"Don't be shy about your body, Hermione. Guys like a girl with self-confidence."

She wanted to retort with some kind of indignant huff about  _not_  being interested in impressing boys, but nothing came out. It wasn't like she hadn't heard that one before. "I have self-confidence," she replied instead.

Jesse shook her head as she buttoned Hermione's shirt. "I'm not talking about confidence in abilities. I've got a body like an ironing board and practice four hours a day with a sword and Tim still thinks I'm the sexiest little thing out there. You have to be proud about what you are blessed with... you are in desperate need of a bra."

Hermione shook her head - the need wasn't  _that_  desperate. Tank tops usually did the trick for her, even though when they loosened up halfway through the day, she had a little bit of… bounce. "You practice four hours a day with a sword?"

"An arming sword. I'm training with a broadsword but my arming sword is my best. Let me get you a bra, girl." Jesse dashed out of the room.

Swordplay was more of a wizard pastime; the muggle world associated swordplay with renaissance faires and live action role playing, and only took it seriously in the form of fencing competitions or action movies. Meanwhile, magic swords were some of the most popular relics to collect, and it was not uncommon to see a wizard household that owned one.

After Jesse harangued Hermione into the bra and finished with her shirt, the two came out to the dinner table, where Sasha was setting out a tea pot. Hermione felt a lot better than she had in a while; fresh clothes and a bra made her feel like she was once again part of civilization.

* * *

"They're buying it."

Master No Name nodded, swirling the last of the wine in her glass around. She finished it and set the glass down lightly. "But not for long. Eventually they will wonder why there is no more physical evidence to point them in the direction we want. What's the closest wand shop to Brussels?"

"Bobby's place, I think."

She nodded. This whole fabrication was making everything complicated. While they had no leads besides a town to show them where Malfoy and the Granger girl really were, they had to set up a fake location for the Ministry so they weren't in the way. "Get Bobby to contact the Ministry with more crap. In the meantime, see to it that the apparatus construction goes on schedule. We may need Worthington to give us another crate if we fail again, and that's already too much money that I don't want to fork over. It does not do well to be wasteful."

"Indeed, Master. This is the new recruit, by the way."

Master No Name turned to the new guy; he looked disturbingly like Draco Malfoy, though was definitely older. The resemblance startled her for a few seconds before her mask slid into place once more.

"There is only one thing you need to know about me that I will tell you - I have no name. Do you know why?"

The man kept eye contact, something that Krokesh, Rubinoff's old partner, would never have done. Master No Name usually terrified new recruits, though she wasn't nearly as cruel as The Dark Lord.

"Labels do nothing for respect in this world. From this day forth, you'll cast aside your given name and become your destiny."

"Wait…" he said, "If you're a woman, doesn't that make you 'mistress' and not 'master'?"

Master fixed the man with a steely glare; Rubinoff stepped away from him.

"Although you all realize that yes, I am a woman, you won't again  _dare_  bring this fact to light. Being your mistress would be like being your bitch; being your master is being your leader. And I'm nobody's bitch."

The man stood in stunned silence, now fearful when he wasn't previously. Master No Name smiled, confusing him further.

"I like ranting, as you'll find. We are a tight bunch here, you'll fit right in." She nodded, signaling that they could leave.

She loved scaring the snot out of new recruits, especially the ones that came willingly.

"Rubinoff? In the matter of Hermione Granger, it is time that we cast a wider net. Start checking coasts, boats, and flights. We will find them."

* * *

"I just wish we knew who we are dealing with."

Neville shook his head slowly. "I've never been the greatest wizard, Harry, but I know lies when I hear them. This whole thing stopped making sense ages ago. Either they are very careful or we are relying on sources that we shouldn't."

"I trust Kingsley, Neville."

"As do I, with my life. But who knows about the witnesses? Death Eaters are conniving little pricks, after all. They could be feeding us crap in the hopes that they find Hermione first."

"And the only clue we have to this woman's identity is that... she has none."

Neville nodded, his face blank.

"This is some _bullshit_."

"I know. Who even knows what that means."

One thing that made no sense was the fact that Hermione was still in Draco's custody; Harry knew his Hermione - she was a fighter until the very last stand. She would always be trying to get away from him, no matter what her ailment was. So why was she still with him? Why was everyone saying that they looked like lovers, or best friends, or brother and sister?

And why in the world would Draco ever choose to travel south? If he was running from the world, he would want to go north, or west. He would want to go to the United States, or Iceland, or even Canada. Even better, he would try Mexico, whose distance and lack of a magical population in magnitude and bulk, like Europe, made it hard for the Ministry to reach. And if Mexico, why not further south? Why not some small village in Chile?

By staying in Europe, he was increasing the chances that he would be found by the wrong people on  _both_ fronts. Even he had payed attention during the study of the government fifth year... he  _knew_  better than this.

"Should we tell Kingsley that we have doubts?"

"What would it matter? The evidence we have is pointing to Belgium now. They appear to be following a definite path. We can't tell him to look elsewhere because we have a hunch that this is a hoax."

Neville nodded again. "The  _Prophet_ sides with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Going against their investigation without evidence is political suicide."

Harry hated the world he lived in sometimes, where honest people like he and Hermione constantly got victimized by the closed-minded. "This is not my first suicide attempt Neville, yet here I stand."


	14. No Memory

_"Let's not forget that the little emotions are the great captains of our lives and we obey them without realizing it." - Vincent Van Gogh_

* * *

Hermione ran her hands over the tips of the soft grass, stopping to tug a weed or two. The Worthington's garden, with its high walls, lush botanicals, and grey stone square, soothed her. For the first time in a while, she felt truly secure.

As soon as she stepped into the house however, the still air engulfing her, she would sigh and remember – their room. That bed. This house. Our mission.

Even going to  _Galleriet_  earlier in the day, which had turned out to be some sort of market, made her anxious – all the noise and bustling, from every direction, people laughing, crying, shouting over the noise… she'd had to latch onto Draco's arm immediately to remind herself that she was safe, that she was still Hermione.

Right now, Draco was all she had left of the comfort of her former existence, which did not bode well for her anxiety.

When she was young, she used to have a woods behind her house, behind the garden. There were wide steps leading steeply to a small, rusted gate, and nothing but wilderness beyond. She used to explore with her friend from the neighborhood trailing along. They used to fight with sticks, climb the trees, and race among the trodden foliage and twisting branches. When Hermione's parents insisted that she do more "ladylike" things when she came home with dirty fingers and scratched arms, she gathered leaves and grass and made leafy salads, peppering them with a wild strawberry or two. She read about all the different plants, finding what berries are safe to eat and which gave her a stomach ache. She drew pictures of mystical animals she thought made special holes in the ground, or a peculiar scratches on a tree.

The forest reminded her so much of home... her trips to the lake with her mum and dad, the woods behind her old house. In truth, she missed the feeling of the grass under her feet, the feeling of the cool, moist air swirling around her. Sure, the grass made her sneeze and the damp air made her hair expand, but it all made her feel... clean. And whole.

But there was something she wasn't acknowledging - the hole in her heart that had started so big and was now shrinking rapidly.

When was the last time she had thought about what she was leaving behind in London? It had been a week at least; when she had first been kidnapped by Draco she had thought about Ron and Harry and the Order almost constantly. Now it was more than far away - it didn't exist anymore.

Hermione tucked her legs in, hugging them to her chest. Who knew she could feel secure in a stranger's home with an icy bodyguard and nothing but her own skin to hold her together?

What she was starting to think, to believe, was scaring her. Why was it that she had stopped trying to escape? Why did she not want to tell Frank's family that she was a captive, and why did the fact that she was ultimately a captive not seem to matter anymore?

Why was she feeling this way about him? Why had she agreed to help him?

_Is this... is this Stockholm Syndrome? Is this what is happening? Or is this real?_

"It's getting late," Draco said from behind her.

"Why must you do that?" she said angrily, leaping up. She shook her head in her haughty manner and walked forward determinedly, hoping that she didn't hit a fence or a tree or something.

He chuckled.

"You go ahead and get off on my misfortune. See if I care."

He could hear that she wasn't actually that angry, but he turned around and walked into the house anyway. She wanted to be alone, and he probably shouldn't have intruded... not that he was one to respect personal space.

"Who does he think he is?" he heard her mutter from behind him.

* * *

"Flashing lights," he said softly, "in the distance. That's all I can see from here."

"Of course. We still have another hour before we get there."

"Shush," Rubinoff said, lifting up his hood. "We're not welcome here; there are Ministry spies everywhere, even on the water."

The trainee nodded and continued to watch the lights dance in the distance. They had been ordered to sweep the coastal cities in both England and Scotland and then move on to the islands. "Do you really expect to find anything? There are millions of places they could be."

"Master knows that. But we will search anyway, because they are bound to make a mistake sometime. We will have them then, and then we can continue with our original plan - "

"Couldn't Master just find someone else to fill the part? That's what I would have done, instead of wasting time finding  _one girl._ "

Rubinoff was beyond angry now. Trainees always pissed him off, but this one was not only annoying - he was also one of those creative ones, one of the newbies who thought he could run the business better. "No. Master knows what she is doing, and we  _never_  question her."

Angelface smiled. "It's okay to - "

" _No._  You don't know her methods,  _junior_. She can scan through your mind like a teenage boy flipping through a twins edition of  _Playwizard_. This is your life now; the life doesn't stop until Master says so."

Thoroughly silenced, Angelface turned his gaze back on the lights. In a few hours, it would be daylight, and they could really begin their search.

* * *

She could feel him this time, feel the warmth that came off his skin. It was just as she had imagined, against her will, the night before. He was tense as well - he hadn't moved for the longest time. She couldn't hear his breath, couldn't hear his heart, couldn't feel his chest expand and contract.

He was stone, and she was jelly.

She wondered if his eyes were open or closed; he definitely was not asleep.

 _He will leave,_  she realized.  _Of course he will. This is the kind of thing that he likes to avoid – anything uncomfortable. Surely he can feel my thoughts, even if he can't read them._

Her heart jumped suddenly as she felt him let out the breath that he had been holding - he was relaxing slowly.

_What is this? Surely... surely he can feel this as well._

Hermione tried to strengthen her resolve. She knew better than this - she knew better than to hope for something. And what was she hoping for? She refused to acknowledge it. Saying it, even in her head, made it more real.

"Would you  _stop_  shivering?" he said suddenly.

She jumped; she hadn't realized that she had been shivering. She wasn't even cold. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize - just stop."

"Sorry."

He shook his head and squirmed a little bit more under the blanket. He looked at the clock - it was only 10:30, and there was no way he was sleeping tonight.

* * *

"Bugger," she said, feeling for the edges of her shirt. Jesse had left her a button up shirt this morning and expected her to put it on  _herself_.

"You're getting better," Jesse said unconvincingly. "Think of it like dressing in the dark."

Hermione nodded and pressed a finger on either side of the seam. That... that felt like a hole.

"Nope. That's the same one you just tried."

"F... fudge."

"I don't mind cursing, Hermione. Let out your anger.  _Give into your anger, Luke_."

Hermione smiled a bit at the muggle joke and felt for the next one down. This straightened out her shirt finally - five minutes for one shirt! That had to be a record!

She suddenly couldn't breathe.

Jesse stopped as well; how long had the music been playing before they had noticed? She could not recognize the tune, and even if she did she will have never heard it played in this way before. She walked towards the door, not caring if she hit a wall, not caring if there was anything in her way. She had to know for sure.

Yes, he was. He was playing the piano.

Of course she shouldn't have been surprised; most upper-class families, at least upper class wizard families for sure, had members that learned to play instruments like the piano or the cello from an early age. It was just... it suited him ridiculously. Of course he played the piano, like of course he was a Seeker and of course he was a Slytherin. It seemed to be as much a part of him as any shade of green and silver.

Her footsteps were interrupting the music, though they weren't interrupting him - he continued to play, though through the music she could feel that he knew she was standing there. Which direction was it? Where was he?

She had to stand there. She couldn't walk anymore. Not until he was finished.

It took forever. She couldn't hear the notes by themselves - she couldn't hear the tune by itself. It was musical noise in her ears. Her brain couldn't even process it.

He stopped abruptly, right in the middle of a string of notes. Having her there was just too much for him - his music was something that Hermione Granger, the Gryffindor bookworm, should never have the opportunity to know about. His music was something that no one knew about, not even people like Blaise Zabini or Pansy.

... Did he have anyone he could share himself with?

He got up and went into the kitchen, not caring if she was disoriented, not caring if she was standing in the middle of a room filled with sharp objects with no eyes to guide her. He just did not  _care_  at the moment. He...

He had to get out. Out of the house for a bit.

He passed her again on his way to the garden door; she hadn't moved.

"He's quite good, isn't he?" Jesse said from behind her.

Hermione nodded sadly. Too good to be wasted on a prick like him, too good to be wasted on a former Death Eater and former tormentor. She wanted to think this - she wanted to cover it with that and be done, without thinking about how much effortlessness and peace went into the sound. She knew her music - she knew her performers. There were musicians who played and you could hear their practice hours and pages of sheet music and notes... and then there were musicians whose music sounded like it came out of their pores.

He was the latter, the kid unwilling to sit still long enough to learn a piece turned into a man who used music to keep himself sane. She could hear it. It was his glue.

"Yes, he is good."

Jesse took her hand and led her away in the correct direction.

* * *

They were getting close. And so was the enemy.

Harry looked at the swirling memory in the pensieve in front of him.

His heart wanted to skip. It wanted to thump wildly against his chest. He wanted to smile in relief and apparate over to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to get a team together. But he could not be hopeful and he knew it.

"How long has he been dead? Since what time?" Nora Constable opened her notebook.

Harry looked at the wall clock. "At least a day. And I know why." He turned to Neville. "Take a look in here."

Neville put his face in the pensieve, trusting Harry enough to do this without question.

"Why does the memory end so fast?" Nora asked. As soon as they could identify Hermione, everything went bright white, like a blank page.

"They have it. It's the only explanation."

"But  _how_  did they get it? It would take... a seriously gifted person to delete that specific a part of his memory. How did they even find this guy? And why would they kill him?"

Neville surfaced. "He's probably bait. To see if we know more than they do."

Harry glanced at Neville, obviously impressed. "You're really getting the hang of this."

"Shall we go for the bait and see what happens?"

"That's what they'll hope, and will expect. I think we should take it, but be cautious."

"Yes... we should keep this quiet. Just us and a few trusted friends, no one in the Ministry. Just in case."

Harry nodded. This was too delicate a lead to risk compromising to the moles that were probably still in the Ministry. What was interesting was the fact that they'd had evidence to show that Hermione was in France, then Belgium... and suddenly they had hard evidence that she was in Norway? It was too strange. Neville had probably been right from the beginning - the Death Eaters were getting  _really_  sneaky.

"This is why we trust memories over all other kinds of evidence."

Harry turned to Nora. "Yes. This is why."

"So what shall we do? Perhaps a small non-Ministry spy sent to check around?"

"A scout... a muggle one. Just tell him what is necessary and nothing else; nothing to give us away in case he gets captured."

Nora nodded, closing her notebook and vanishing it. "You boys are a real asset to us."

"Thank you." Harry emptied the contents of the pensieve into a glass vial and put it in his inside shirt pocket. "This memory is vital to the prosecution of Draco Malfoy as well. We now have indisputable evidence that he is her captor and that he is working alone."

"Yes... I didn't detect any signs of abuse from Hermione, or from the glimpse I saw of her... but I suppose with a captor like Malfoy, the wounds are beneath the surface."

Harry shouldered on his coat. "She's very strong, Nora. I'm sure she's not letting him get to her."


	15. The Downward Spiral

_"The only antidote to mental suffering is physical pain." - Karl Marx_

* * *

Hermione spent most of her day trying to avoid him, but it was impossible; she would think that she had escaped, and then... she would  _feel_  him. Feel him enter the room, feel him stop and realize that she was there as well, and then feel him try to act unaffected.

Why could she  _feel_  him? It was strange. She knew that her lack of sight probably had a hand in heightening her other senses, but  _blimey_. Surely this had nothing to do with her lack of sight.

She almost constantly wanted to be mad at him and couldn't do it; she needed to remind herself of before, when things were simple. They hated each other and that was it. Simple.

Now things were not so clear.

Draco was so preoccupied with trying to appear like nothing was wrong that he didn't even seem to notice the change in her. The awkwardness was something he thought was created in his own mind, but the more he tried to make it go away, the more it seemed to bother him.

She depended on him to steer her in the correct direction even; he depended on her to be the part of the team that made sure their hosts were comfortable having them around, since he didn't say much. She depended on him to protect her from danger and know when the Death Eaters were coming; he needed her level head at times, her admittedly valuable contributions to their strategy. He had to force himself to talk to her openly, but they had to come up with a cohesive plan. He would not tell her the exact location of the Death Eater camp until they got close, just in case either of them got captured in the meantime, but they would have to work together to even dream of success.

"We need to talk," he said to her one morning.

Hermione nodded. Yes, they did need to talk about a lot of things; things that she would rather not. She wouldn't get burned though - if he wanted to tell her something - anything - about the strange things happening between them, she would listen, and  _then_  tell her side.

"The Death Eaters' weakness is that they require centralized leadership. The key to them is the woman who manages everything - we just call her Master. The Ministry knows her as Master No Name. If we can take her out, then we have them."

Hermione let out a small sigh. Of course he wanted to talk about the mission. Why not? "It's not going to be a cakewalk, for sure."

"She puts a mental block on everyone who is recruited so that if they see her outside of the Death Eaters, they won't recognize her. I'm still working on breaking mine, but it's like trying to remember something that was long forgotten - it's hard to conjure. She's good with memory spells and such, legilimency, that kind of thing."

Hermione processed this. The only reason why Master No Name would place a mental block on her own people is that she was either around normal citizens every day, or was afraid that someone would recognize her from her time as a regular Death Eater. She was certainly smart for that. The scary thing about this was that she could be anyone, possibly even in a ranking position in the Ministry - controlling both sides of an underground war with a flick of her hand.

"Her person could also be a front – she could really look like anyone."

"Correct. We can suspect no one except for someone with access to some of the things the Death Eaters had access to. She could be a security guard in the Ministry. She knows how to get around the magic surrounding their job."

"She must be very powerful then - it's almost impossible to fool the Ministry security system."

Draco shook his head. "This is the only thing I don't like about the whole 'muggles are dirt' theory. Their technology is impervious to magical probing - the Death Eaters are starting to use that to their advantage, and the Ministry doesn't know it yet."

"Kingsley always said that Death Eaters overlook things that muggles check first. Crime scene investigators use all kinds of methods to catch people... we wizards are a lazy bunch."

"Indeed. So we need to be more careful than usual." Draco chewed on the inside of his cheek as he fumbled with a way to say the next thing on his mind. "I was also thinking that we should forgo the trip to East Asia and head straight for them, because the longer we wait, the more chance they will have to capture us."

Unable to stop the disappointment from creeping into her voice, she mumbled, "Okay."

Taken aback by her lack of interest in the topic, and whatever he was about to say dissolved, he returned to biting the inside of his cheek.

Hermione shook her head. Things were getting complicated in every way now. Now that they didn't have time for her to reverse the Noctulus Blindness, they were going to have to do all of this with a serious handicap. Hermione was at peace with this however - she realized that she hadn't actually expected to ever get her eyesight back.

* * *

In the effort to avoid each other, Hermione was letting herself go. She needed a distraction - something to focus her brain on anything besides her captor. She found herself digging her fingers into her chest wound.

Hermione hated emotional pain.

She was no stranger to it, but she loathed it anyway.

Of course, she knew that pain was mental, but it didn't stop her from wanting to get rid of it. Ever since she had started her fight against dark magic and against evil doers she had endured a lot of pain. She was nearly killed in the Department of Mysteries. She was tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange not a few months ago. And every death she had healed from took a great toll.

And now this - she couldn't move without aggravating her wounds; the skin around each clay-colored patch was pink and angry, forming hills and valleys. She idly traced her finger along one of the scabs, feeling jitters of pain shoot through her in warning. Her body was hard at work to repair the damage, aided by the sap, and it clearly did not want her touching the mending flesh.

For the first time she wondered if her wounds would leave scars. She did not want to be reminded of that night; of having her mind probed by Draco Malfoy and biting the collar of her shirt in order to keep from screaming as they fled. Feeling dizzy when they'd finally stopped and delirious as he cleaned her chest.

She would be reminded especially of that - the invasion of personal space, the sensation of each individual indentation in his fingertips as he used his fingers to rub away the dried blood...

She wanted to scream.

Instead, she went to the garden. Being outside, surrounded by plants, still reminded her of him, but at least she had the trees to supply some noise for her.

Jesse was there, moving quickly, her sword slashing through the air. Hermione sat down outside of the door until she was done.

"It's okay, I'm not going to cut your head off," Jesse said breathily, coming over to her. "I've got more control than that."

Hermione smiled and allowed herself to be pulled up and lead to the grey stone square that Jesse used as a practice ground. They sat in silence for a few minutes, breathing in the air and listening to the wind rustle the trees.

"I didn't have to work today, so I thought I'd get in some practice hours."

Hermione nodded - she understood obsession like this. "Your heart cries when you aren't practicing... practice is like refueling."

Jesse quirked her head to the side, lifting her arms and stretching her muscles. "What is your thing?"

She smiled a bit. "Violin. I was an angry little violinist."

"It shouldn't make you angry."

"It wasn't the violin, or the practicing - I was always frustrated by my lack of perfection. I used to get sweaty after 15 minutes of practice... and everything would start to piss me off. I often had to practice in my underwear so I wouldn't get itched by my clothes or hair. I loved playing so much that it drove me crazy that I wasn't perfect at it and that I sometimes couldn't express myself with it."

"What happened?"

Hermione shrugged. "After a few years in school, I stopped playing. I just didn't have time anymore, and it wasn't important enough to sacrifice other priorities for."

Jesse shook her head and fingered the hilt of her sword. "I can understand that a little... but I make time for my sword. I have to. It gives me something to release my anger on."

" _'For that is the path to the dark side...'_ " Hermione quoted quietly.

Jesse grinned from ear to ear. "A Star Wars nerd! I knew it!"

Hermione shook her head. "You quote Star Wars every five minutes! I was just trying to imitate you."

Jesse was still grinning. "I'm just excited for the new one coming out soon, that's all. There's nothing wrong with a twenty-four year old woman liking science fiction."

It hit her then - the world would keep turning whether she returned to her friends and family safely or not. In the end, only a few people cared about her safety.

"Hermione... are you okay?"

She nodded, trying to smile. "Yes, I'm fine. I agree with you."

* * *

Draco, unable to sleep, had been staring at the ceiling for over an hour, thinking of his past.

Every day of his previous life had been full of small power struggles, from something as simple as who passed the salt to heavier things like his schooling or Death Eater activities. He was constantly losing these, trying again and again to find the one thing that would make his parents tick and let him get away with something. They were constantly comparing him with people like Harry Potter and Granger.

Well, he wasn't like them. They had all been dealt bad hands in ways... but his hand couldn't be folded. He had to sit through the rest of the turn, betting out and out only to face up and know that he lost. And his stack was in the negative.

It was around the time that his situation started to really get to him that he started getting into piano. His music was his security blanket.

It was also probably the only thing that his family was remotely impressed with, whether they showed it or not. But no one knew how important it was to him, how much of his soul was held together by the glue of chords and lines of music.

He realized that he spent almost all of his time coping with stress and no time actually living life. His music, his tormenting, his studies, his projecting... all of it was a form of escaping from shadows, a form of coping with his demons. He'd spent all of his life in a swirling fog of trying to feel better, only to be sucked further down into it.

Life did nothing for him... he didn't want to die, because he feared it. He just wanted to spend the rest of his life in a pain-free coma.

Draco turned under the covers, facing Hermione. She had gone to sleep quite some time ago, judging by the lack of tenseness in her aura. The moonlight splashed across her face in strips, highlighting the pink circles framing her eyes and her shiny cheeks.

_Unbelievable. I have to sit here thinking about my stupid life and she can cry herself to sleep?_

Draco roughly shuffled back around, not caring if he woke her up or not. Why did he have to feel such human emotions all the time now?

_So much for my training. I thought I was getting better at it._

_She's been eating away at my emotional walls. I can't believe it. What is she doing to me?_

He tried not to think the thought that wanted to bubble to the surface of his mind. NO, that was not it. That couldn't be it. He didn't trust her that way.

Did he?


	16. Rotting in Place

_"Iron rusts from disuse; water loses its purity through stagnation... even so does inaction sap the vigour of the mind." - Leonardo da Vinci_

* * *

Eventually, it seemed that life quieted down. The days started to move fast for both of them; before they knew it, they became part of the family.

However, while the days moved quickly, the nights did not. Now that they had gotten so good at avoiding each other during the day, the nighttime seemed like ritual torture. Hermione lied awake for hours, her eyes shut, trying to turn off her senses and trying to quell any impulsive urges she had - like the urge to say something to him or the urge to reach forward and touch him.

She had expected him to leave her alone in the bed every night, only coming in after she was asleep; he apparently did not want to acknowledge the awkwardness between them during the night by trying to avoid the situation. It wasn't even until the third night that she was sure he was actually sleeping – anytime she woke up, it seemed like he was just lying there, tensed up, like he was ready to launch out of bed at any moment.

He really was making too big a deal out it.

That being said, Hermione could not help but feel an electrifying thrill as on the seventh night he had climbed in right after her, pushing her to the side he usually slept on. The raw intensity of his body heat indicated that he was shirtless.

She'd had to lie completely still for a few minutes to get her mind right.

_This is ridiculous,_  she thought as she turned over on her side.  _This is absolutely insane. Please REMIND yourself of who he is and what he has done to you._

They hadn't actually gone outside of the house since their trip to  _Galleriet_ , or outside at all besides the garden in the back of the house. Hermione found herself spending most of her time there, whether she was by herself, enjoying the cool breeze, or with Jesse as she practiced with her sword.

As for Draco, he found himself bored out of his mind.

_What are we doing here?_  he thought. They had a mission, and even though it was nice to finally feel somewhat safe, it was only a matter of time before the Death Eaters knew where they were. And then everything would be shot to hell.

Hermione being around certainly didn't help; even when they weren't talking about how to take out Master, he would think about her. He'd picture her body while she slept, peaceful and trusting, or remember the line of her collarbone, bits of stiff bandage poking beneath her shirt, or the fresh look of her face, skin glowing like a washed peach, when she had just showered.

He was actually having a hard time not thinking about her constantly.

Draco didn't know what to make of that.

He tried to distract himself with other things, but in the end the only thing that could truly distract him was the piano. He hadn't touched it since he had played it the first time, with her standing there. At Malfoy Manor, his piano was in his second room, which was in a secluded wing in the back of the house. His parents were less likely to hear him playing it there, since they mainly stayed in the front of the house, where the dining hall and their rooms were. They'd had the piano put in that room for exactly that reason - they knew better than to disturb him while he was practicing.

He passed by it often - the muggle family had a smaller, less extravagant one than he had, but besides needing a tuning the piano suited his purposes just fine. He found himself sitting down at it a few times, just staring at the keys and imagining that he was in his room.

Sasha happened to walk by as he did this one day; like always she was constantly doing something, constantly busy with housework or cooking or laundry or something else that should have been left for servants. She set down the folded load of whites she was carrying. "I used to play when I was younger. This is my old piano."

Draco nodded, brushing his fingers over the keys.

"Do you play?"

He nodded again, still looking at the keys. It was definitely an older piano, though not as old as his. She'd taken good care of it - it looked like it had been cleaned completely through recently.

"Play me something, love."

He looked up at her face; she wore the same sad smile that she tended to wear when he was around.

Draco didn't know how much he wanted to play in front of another pianist; he had never done that. He played for himself only.

Did he need to impress her? Or would she care? He didn't know these things; everything he did like this had to be perfect at home in order to get any acknowledgement, or even just to avoid infuriating smirks and twitching eyebrows.

He started with his favorite piece to play - something deceptively fast that maintained a slow melody. He didn't look up to watch her face, even though he could have if he wanted to - instead he kept his eyes on the wood of the empty music stand above the keys. In the corner of his mind, he felt Hermione perk up - she was in the room finishing her shower.

When he was done, he closed the lid over the keys.

"Very good... you've expanded on classical training, it seems."

He nodded. "I stopped lessons five years ago."

He looked over - Hermione was standing in the doorway, her hair sopping wet, a towel clenched around her. Her black eyes and white towel, draping over her just so, made her look like a Roman statue.

Draco got up and went over to her to usher her back into the room - how she had managed to get from the bathroom to the bedroom door was beyond him. She was too indecently dressed to be in front of their host.

As he closed the door, Sasha tried to quell her heartbeat. She'd seen the outline of something against his leg, something that looked distinctly and horribly familiar. Like a long, thin stick of wood.

_... They're running from the Death Eaters._

* * *

She didn't know how her heart hadn't burst by now, with all the torture it was being put through constantly. He was leading her somewhere, and she was having a hard time keeping a tight hand clenched over the ends of her towel. She was well aware that her sopping hair was probably getting his shirt wet; the top of her head came just above his chin, and she could feel her hair plastering itself against his neck.

She felt bathroom tiles under her feet as they stopped. "You should put some clothes on," he said shortly.

Hermione nodded, waiting for him to back away from her. He wasn't moving.

It was too hard to put on this face for her, too hard to try to pretend to be a prick around her. Something always got in the way.

She reached behind her tentatively and brushed her wet hair aside, detaching it from his neck and shirt slowly. Draco swallowed audibly. Her hair felt amazing when it was wet. It silkily trailed across his skin, leaving a line of cold, tingling flesh.

"Hermione? Draco?" someone called from the door. "I have something to show you." It sounded like Jesse.

Draco backed away and left without another word; Hermione was left to dress in the dark.

* * *

When she finished, Jesse was there to guide her to the garden; she sat down just inside the grey square.

"I think it's time everyone has come clean," said Sasha. Hermione turned her head toward her voice; she had thought that it was Jesse who had something to show.

Leaning on the wall, Draco nodded once. "So you know, then."

"I saw the outline of your wand. And I know the spell that has her eyes like that."

Hermione gasped. "You know about us?"

"I'm a witch, Hermione," Jesse put forth. "You have the same magic aura as I do. I thought as much as soon as we met. And the only terrorist organization that you'd cross the sea to run from would be the Death Eaters."

"And therein lies the problem," Sasha sighed.

Draco looked at his feet. This should have all come as a shock to him but it seemed like nothing surprised him anymore. The magical presence he had felt on Frank's boat hadn't gone away when he had come to the house. "Yes. We need to keep moving."

Sasha shook her head sadly. "That may be true, but not because we don't want you here, but because you won't be safe. By coming here, you've put yourself in more danger than anywhere else."

Hermione straightened her neck, pointing her chin at the sky. There was a blockage forming in her throat; she could not help but feel disappointed. She had gotten too comfortable here, and she knew it now; they still had things to do, still had people after them. People after  _her_.

"I'm sure you have wondered why we live so well and only Frank and Jesse work. Frank can be so oblivious sometimes - he wouldn't be making nearly what he is if he were doing the same things for someone else, and he doesn't realize it. He thinks he's just really important. We have to pretend that we don't know to avoid suspicion."

There was silence as Draco mulled this over. "So what are we talking about here? How deep?"

Hermione shook her head. "Wait. Are you saying... that the cargo that Frank ships is for the  _Death Eaters?_ "

"He's a middleman. He has suppliers in Egypt, Mongolia, and other parts of the world. They pay him to deliver it safely to whoever needs it... and most times, it's not innocent trading."

Hermione shook her head, barely receiving this. "He's a dark artifact trafficker? That's... how do you even get into that business?"

Draco turned to Hermione, taking on a tone he reserved for her when he was annoyed by something she didn't know. "The black magic market usually uses muggle transports. Muggles ask fewer questions. Which supplier is he? What is your surname again?"

"Worthington."

" _Blimey_... you're serious? He's their main source!"

"He's meeting with them overseas this week. If he starts babbling, he'll mention that you two are staying here, and they'll be kicking down our door within minutes."

Cold fear washed over Hermione she rose to her feet abruptly. "I need... I need an owl. Now."

Draco stared at her incredulously. "Don't even think about it. There's nothing they can do."

"But they need to know this - this could bust open the dark artifact market; we could finally stop illegal shipments into England."

"This is a lot bigger than just exposing criminals, Granger. This is our lives we're talking about. I thought we discussed this!"

Hermione shook her head. "This is bigger than  _us_. How are we supposed to be the big heroes if we cannot even save the people in front of us? They'd get the best protection as well, and we be dealing a major blow to the Death Eaters if we cut off their trading."

Instead of counter-arguing, Draco smirked. He didn't know she could be conniving enough to know how to indirectly weaken an enemy. It was the type of thing that Death Eaters and Slytherins knew how to do. "You're more devious than you look. It won't be hard for them to find another source. The problem is that they need Worthington for the plan involving  _you_. That's what makes this complicated."

"If they know you're here then, Hermione, it will be an early Christmas for them. That means no owling."

Hermione's heartbeat began to slow. It would not do well to be impulsive now - they needed a plan.

Jesse put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry. As soon as you told us why you were here, we were preparing for something like this. We are not completely defenseless. I think you need to know this." She jogged to the wall of the house and removed the sword from its hanging position under the overhang. "This is not just a sword."

She unsheathed the sword, letting the long metal blade catch the sun before walking back over to the group. "Traders would queue up in a heartbeat to have this sword."

Draco leaned in to see what she was talking about.

Pushing her thumb against the small jewel on the hilt, Jesse began to unscrew the blade. Draco watched in amazement as she turned it in deft fingers, supporting the entire weight of it with her fingers. When the blade was completely detached, she pulled it up and away from the hilt, revealing a long, grey-white stick of polished wood.

"Beautiful," Draco commented; he didn't know that halfbloods could do such things. His father would have traded his walking stick in a quick second to have this sword.

"This is my wand. I made the blade myself, and had a hard time getting the mechanics in town to let me use their space for blacksmithing, but well, it was worth it. It's silver and a granite-like magic catalyst." She turned the sword a few times in a down slashing spiral pattern, her upper arm barely moving as the sword cut through the air between them. "It has a better access shaft but I wanted you to see what it can do."

"A magic sword would be very interesting against wands; I've never battled against one before, and I doubt many of them have either."

Jesse smiled. "I can wield this better than anyone of them can wield a wand."

Sasha nodded. "So we have some defense, but there is a problem. Hermione is as blind as ever and you can't walk into their base of operations like that."

"I hope you weren't considering doing this by yourself!"

Hermione finally understood what they were saying - they were planning on helping them. "We can't let you do this. We've already put you in enough danger."

Draco shook his head. "I can't disclose anything to you - if they capture you then everything we were planning to do is completely buggered."

"You don't have a choice," Jesse replied. "There are cures for Hermione's blindness in eastern parts of Asia. I can work on that, and can meet you there."

Hermione ran a hand through her damp hair. "I don't know about this."

"The more people are involved, the more danger we are in," Draco said quietly. Why was he discussing getting help from the muggles? He could not respect Jesse as a witch yet, even having seen her sword and wand, and he had no idea how Sasha knew so much. More people being introduced to and involved in their mission would complicate things.

"In any case, you need to start preparing. Get packed; I'll get some things for you from the shop when I pick up Amy."

* * *

Hermione finished her french braid slowly, not knowing what to think. How had this happened? This seemed like the sweetest family in existence, yet they contribute to one of the worst practices in the wizarding world on a daily basis.

"Now you see why we can't trust anyone. We can't even trust each other."

Hermione shook her head, suddenly angry. She wanted her damn eyes! They were making this a million times harder than it needed to be!

"Calm down, Granger."

"Don't bloody tell me to calm down!"

Draco rolled his eyes and continued to put things into the bag. "We travel lighter this time. I've magicked smaller bottles for the panacea sap and the muggle potion. Also, the Death Eaters probably have spies watching this area because they have a big supplier here. We can't make any sudden moves that will draw their gaze."

"So going shopping that time was probably a bad idea."

"Definitely."

He finished quickly, having very little to put into the bag. He took out the wand and said, " _Diminuendo_." The bag shrank to the size of a handbag. "With any luck, they don't know we're here yet."

* * *

"Did you see them with your own eyes?"

Greg scratched in his beard. "I saw the woman. The one with the black eyes. She was sitting at the window."

Nora turned to Harry. "We've got her, Harry. Let's get moving."

He nodded, thinking. "Before the other side does. If we can get both of them, then all the better. We can get this wrapped up a little more quickly."

"Should we tell Ronald?"

Harry shook his head. "If this doesn't go as planned, I can't face him. Can you get us registered portkeys? I'll pop in on Neville."

"Sure." Nora turned to leave, only stopping when she reached the door. "Harry?"

Harry didn't turn to look at her. "Yes?"

"It's going to be okay. She's going to be okay."

He nodded, clearing his throat. He knew better than to hope. "Let's get you sorted out, Greg..."


	17. Brave and Beautiful Soul

_"If a man will begin with certainties, he shall end in doubts; but if he will be content to begin with doubts, he shall end in certainties." - Sir Francis Bacon_

* * *

Frank's absence became the main worry in the house - with everyone working together, Hermione and Draco managed to fit clothes, toiletries, supplies, and food into their bag. By nightfall, they were nearly ready for a sudden departure.

"I need a wand, Draco," Hermione whispered.

Draco was facing away from her, but he could hear everything in her voice - what could happen if he let her have one, why she wanted one. He had told her that she needed to earn the right to have a wand... but truth be told, that little power struggle wasn't worth the trouble anymore. They had bigger things to worry about, and if she used a new wand to incapacitate him and escape... he honestly didn't care. Having her help was the optimal choice, but things were too awkward for him to try and put her down constantly.

Besides, he would know how she really felt once she had the power of a wand on her side - a wand she could use against him. Whether she did or not would determine where her mind was at.

A whole minute passed before he answered her. "I've got you figured out, Granger," he whispered back.

"You think you do," she retorted, turning away from him.

Draco sat up suddenly. "Turn around," he whispered. "It's about time we did this."

Hermione's heart instinctively jumped into her throat. She laid completely still instead, waiting for him to make a move, and wondering what suddenly made him so interested.

Instead, he laughed. "Wow, Granger. That's not what I'm talking about. Relax."

Hermione tentatively sat up, mortified, scooting back and pulling the covers over her bare legs. She stopped, unsure of what to do now.

He chuckled again, hiding a slight excitement at the idea of what she was thinking. " _Relax_. We need to be able to communicate without words. I did that once earlier but it is not safe to do it that way. You need to be able to talk back to me when I talk to you."

"You mean... telepathy?"

"No, not  _mental_  telepathy. You communicate with feelings and emotions, not words. Mental telepathy is like talking without opening your mouth, like broadcasting; I'm talking about breaking the barriers of your mind so it can reach out."

"So, not legilimency."

"Legilimency is a one way street. Useful, for obtaining information... but not as effective for communicating."

Hermione nodded, understanding, but still slightly apprehensive. "That style of communication... it's really invasive."

Draco shook his head. He knew it was invasive, like someone in your personal space, because the mind  _is_ personal space. Pulling back the curtain of someone's mind was like pulling aside a shower curtain - there was no place to hide and everything was there to see.

"You won't be able to do this unless I let you in, right?"

Sweat broke over Draco's brow; he could certainly invade her mind without her consent. But it was no more moral than other things that were non-consensual.

He steadied the sudden shame he felt at threatening her with this magic in the beginning of their journey. Doing something like that to her was unthinkable.

He finally said, softly, "The more aware you are of the sensation, the easier it becomes to accept it and the easier it becomes to block it out and control it. But if you really want to, you can break in." He paused, gauging her reaction, and then followed with, "The barrier is mostly controlled by emotions - I could reach you earlier because you were overpowered by fear; it was sneaking my consciousness past the Death Eater that was hard."

Hermione considered this. "I need practice, basically."

He sighed, the color returning to his face. "Yes. I find it hard to believe that you don't know about this kind of magic, Granger."

"I know about emotional and mental magic. But isn't it illegal?"

Draco pointedly ignored her question. He closed his eyes and said, "Clear your mind and try to relax. The edge of your mind should feel like a curtain of water."

It was a few seconds before Hermione spoke. "I thought you said I couldn't trust you."

His face drained again. She was right - doing this required quite a bit of trust - otherwise it was just purely invasive and truly awful. If they wanted to make their objective as easy as possible however, they needed to be able to communicate like this.

"You shouldn't," he warned softly, and in his words she could feel something like contrition. "But we need this. I know it's hard to trust me - it's hard for me to trust you."

When he got no response, Draco tried again. "We need this."

Hermione sighed and nodded, closing her eyes out of habit. She was not used to feeling her mind this way, so it took her quite a while to feel the enclosure.

"It helps if you pretend you are floating. Let go of the strings that attach you to your body, and just feel your emotions - we'll just do that for now."

Hermione let her body fall back onto the pillow a bit and imagined it detaching from her mind and spirit. It wasn't working correctly though - she was too aware that she was relaxing her body when she should have been tense to have him so close. The fear she had felt earlier in this, where she was actually afraid of what he'd do to her, had morphed into fear of something else - perhaps a fear of getting too close, or a fear of feeling things that she shouldn't.

"You're not letting go."

Hermione opened her eyes, receiving a brief shock of more darkness, as usual, before she sat up. "I can't do this around you."

Draco was silent.

Hermione immediately mentally kicked herself - saying things like that usually pissed him off.

Instead, Draco felt a little spark in his heart; a month ago he would have chalked this up to her fear of him or her inability to stand being around him, but now her tone sounded different. He was great at reading people when they said things like this.

And something was telling him that she could feel the change in their relationship too. She had basically assumed he was going to kiss her earlier - he had brushed that away in the moment but it seemed even more exciting to him now.

He wouldn't dare acknowledge this, for fear of her rejection. He couldn't deny emotions anymore around her, and he'd done more than notice, but... he still had to be sure.

So if they were going to share this kind of magic, he'd have to be very careful about what emotions he showed.

"Okay," he said, shaking his mind clear. "Let me try first, then."

Hermione nodded and laid back again.

For a moment nothing was happening; she felt just the same as she had before. But a few seconds later, she felt movement.

At first she thought it was something out of the corner of her eye, but she squashed that quickly with a frown. This was in her own head - it was like curtains fluttering. Like there were dark shapes outside of her lit window.

She was getting impatient; she was starting to recognize the shape. It felt like him, smelled like him, and looked like him, all at the same time, though she could tell none of this from using her fingers, her nose or her eyes. It was almost indecent how much like  _him_  the shape was; it was a clear lake on a cloudy day, still and somber.

She relaxed a little more, and felt the liquid curtain thin out.

Floating through that grey area Draco called "soul space," he felt her mind barrier right in front of him. The form of her mind was very different from everyone he'd ever tried; he'd only seen a glimpse of it in the forest, being too on edge to focus in on how she looked.

Her mind was green, like a ripe pear, and settled around Draco like mist. As he got close, he could feel her clearly; she was completely different than when he saw her when his eyes were open, and yet, it was  _her_. He saw her true form - hot like the sun, vibrating, her soul saturated with love - bearing the smell and feel that he recognized and could now attach to her physical self.

Suddenly her surprise and confusion at feeling him in her body rippled towards him. He could sense that in her blindness, with only what she felt physically and emotionally holding her to the ground, it was terrifying her to have someone else's emotions, someone else's feelings, wafting into her.

_:Hermione - :_

She launched out her mind and crashed into his.

Dark, thick emotions swelled over Draco's form and covered them like tar. Hermione gasped wildly as they filled the caves of her mind and body and suffocated her from the inside.

_She was five years old, petting a kitten as it played with the edge of her rug; she was seven, running into her father's office with a drawing despite the pleas of her mother to leave him alone; she was twelve, sitting on a bench in the snow, throwing snowballs against the walls of one of the Hogwarts greenhouses; she was fifteen, trying to drown herself in a bath of hot water and lemon slices; she was eighteen, facing a dark street lit by a single lamp; there were running footsteps and flashes of light around the corner –_

She blacked out.

"What the  _fuck_ , Granger!"

When she came to, with her only indication of her own existence the thumping of her heartbeat, he was breathing hard, right over her. His voice was dangerously low. " _Don't do that again._ "

She closed her mouth, forcing herself to breathe out of her nose.

"Is everything okay in there?" asked a muffled voice from behind the door. "I heard yelling."

"Yes, we're fine," Hermione forced out, sitting up and involuntarily putting her face right next to his. She stopped jerkily.

He didn't move to give her space; if her depth perception was right, he was indecently close to her, practically leaning over her.

What had covered her were emotions, dark emotions like wet cement, heavy and unforgiving. They were feelings she had never felt so crushingly - intense loneliness, anger and resentment, even some emotions she couldn't recognize. And yet memories filled her body, memories that she knew now. She  _knew_  things about him now. They had been etched in her soul.

Neither of them moved as she shakily assessed the memories that floated under her skin like silk.

"What has made you feel like that?" she whispered.

She had somehow forced his pent up anger and depression open by launching herself at him like she had. They'd been the same person for a few seconds.

His lungs were bursting from the weight of what he had just felt, what she had just done; his body felt weak.

"No one should ever feel that."

Draco swallowed. She was barely more than an inch away from him; his eyes flew to her lips as her breath warmed his face. It made him even dizzier. "I know," he whispered back.

He forced himself to lean away from her, collapsing on the bed beside her. "I'm sorry."

Hermione shook her head. "Please don't be sorry."

He nodded, aimlessly clenching the covers, trying not to feel ashamed. He was not used to showing outward weakness. He could not face her right now, not after he had tried to hide, tried to control himself, only to have his walls completely demolished by her innocent mistake.

"Is this magic supposed to feel like that?"

"No."

"Then what… why is your mind like that?"

He shook his head, burrowing into the blankets, struggling to regain his composure.

"Draco…"

"Because I repress my emotions, okay?"

Hermione slid down and rested her head on her pillow, her breathing still unsteady. She was going to ask, but she felt that she already knew -

His unconscious mind was unstable from him forcing his emotions down.

Why had he considered doing this? He was maxed out. He tried to regain some control over his emotional walls, pressing his feelings down. But it was strenuous, like trying to ignore the pattern in a repetitive noise; his feelings of deep insecurity, of hatred and hopelessness, kept bubbling up to the surface of his mind.

Whatever she had done had also weakened his mental barriers; he was like an open book to any Death Eater that wanted to go prowling.

Draco started as he felt a little flutter outside of his mind - he briefly tensed up, but did not detect a Death Eater's familiar shape. All Death Eaters had much the same mind - they were inscrutable, only taking human characteristics once communication started. Death Eaters liked to hide themselves even while doing this, so instead of pulling back a curtain on their naked mind, he usually pulled back a curtain on their fully dressed, fully controlled mind.

Hermione's mind was so innocent, so positively bare, he'd been caught off-guard. He steadied his breathing and thinned the curtain, and she was there, again, her flaming form slightly weaker but still buzzing with compassion.

 _:I hate that we can never talk.:_  Hermione said faintly.

_:What do you mean?:_

It took a few seconds for her to respond; she was clumsy with this new magic.  _:We shut down around each other.:_

Draco brought himself back to reality a bit - he was able to think normally and communicate mentally simultaneously and separately, since he'd been doing it for so long – and contemplated her thoughts.

He did shut down around her; constantly snapping, or deflecting, so that he didn't have to engage with her about anything real. And that felt so useless now.

It was strange, how quickly they were unraveling.

But despite the odd sense of nervousness she wafted to him, despite her assumption about his intentions earlier, he still felt strongly that he needed to hide from her, to keep himself safe. Keep his heart safe?

_:It's okay to let people in.:_

A little of Draco's original loneliness bubbled over, flowing into her. : _They always disappoint you.:_

_:Then let the right people in.:_

An accusatory smell flowed from him.  _:Who, you?:_

She was trying to hide her emotions, but was useless for her, like trying to cover her entire naked form with one arm. It was easy to see that she was being sincere.  _:Yes.:_

Urgh. This is exactly the type of thing that he didn't like people doing - getting all kindly and helpful. Whatever issues he had, he didn't need those people to help him.

 _:But that's exactly what you want.:_  She was still warm and sincere.

Oh shit. He'd forgotten to put his walls up.

Fatigue flowed from him. He didn't want to talk about it anymore - discussing it would make him unhappy, and possibly reopen the barriers to his darker emotions.

Understanding, Hermione quietly closed the connection, her acceptance of his request mingling with determination. It was not likely that she would let this lie.

* * *

"We have a problem," Rubinoff said to his Master.

"Hmm..." She flipped through images in his mind – various parchment rolls, colliding with each other, the Norwegian coast, a nod from their mole within the Ministry…

"Someone on Constable's team has registered a portkey to Bergen. They must have found her."

"Well, there's no problem with that, is there?" she replied. "But yes, let's restructure. We'll put on a show. Get ready."


	18. Feeling U, Feeling Me

_"He felt now that he was not simply close to her, but that he did not know where he ended and she began."_

_― Leo Tolstoy_

* * *

Hermione didn't realize how heavily she had slept until she awoke suddenly and jerkily, panting. She reached out with her senses, and could feel the bed tilted in front of her. Draco Malfoy was still there, apparently sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Geez, Granger, you scared the hell out of me!" he barked, launching up.

Hermione shook her head, rubbing her eyes. "Sorry. I do that whenever I'm anxious before bed."

Draco nodded cooly and exited the room. Now that she was awake, he could no longer be alone with himself, and it was absolutely necessary now. He knew someone was going to come for them soon, and despite it being still early, he needed to have his wits about him.

"Hermione? I've brought more clothes. These are also good for travel."

Hermione smiled as she felt Jesse set clothes beside her.

"Also, I've been doing some research. Unfortunately, it's not as simple as Googling 'noctulous blindness cures,' but I found some helpful things all the same. The antidote is some kind of potion, made with a special fruit. Some kind of... black citrus fruit. Very interesting stuff." Jesse lifted Hermione's arms and removed her nightie.

Hermione sighed, her smile growing and her abrupt wakefulness forgotten. "I'll bet. I'll have to read up on it as well - it sounds fascinating."

"You can read on the journey," Draco said, unabashed by his sudden appearance, nor by the fact that he knew Hermione would  _not_  be reading on the journey.

It took Hermione a good second to realize she had to cover herself; Draco scoffed at the gesture and went back to what he was doing.

"Are you leaving today?"

Draco nodded, indicating the bag on the floor next to the door. He stiffened; Hermione's mind was wondering around outside of his.

He opened his barrier, and though she could tell he was slightly annoyed to be having her emotions in his head so early in the morning, she could also tell that he was impressed by how much better she was controlling it.

A warm smile floated towards him, and he opened his eyes.

"You shouldn't blunder around like that outside of someone's head. Just tap on the window."

Jesse shot him a confused look and turned her gaze to Hermione, who nodded, albeit a little disappointed. He was so different in person from the Draco she saw in that hazy space... she knew him better now though, and knew that he put up a front.

_:You don't have to pretend around me now.:_

She felt him roll his eyes.

"Tea is on the table, if you'd like some."

"Yes," Hermione said. "Draco, I need to get dressed now."

He nodded and left without another word.

"I swear, I think he's mad sometimes."

* * *

Hermione smoothed her fingers over the edges of the ceramic tea-cup, slowly memorizing the feeling of the smooth, scalloped edges.

"I told you we live too well," Jesse muttered, noticing the movement. "So describe this woman to me, the one who runs the show."

Draco shook his head. "She's a little messed up in the head, one of those geniuses who is not all there. She has her tempers but is creepily good humored most of the time."

Sasha grinned, her usual sad smile gone this morning. "She sounds quite interesting."

"Yes. Her methods aren't always though. She's a little better than the Dark Lord at things like torture. She doesn't do spells. She does... machines."

Hermione shuddered, thinking of torture machines in history. There were all kinds of things one could do to cause pain, and she didn't want to think about them - her chest hurt quite enough for her to deal with.

"She... has black hair and piercing eyes. And a gentle smile, though on her it makes her seem even crazier."

"How about height, body type, etcetera?"

Draco shrugged. "She has petite physical features. Who's to know - she usually only exposes her back and a bit of her chest."

Jesse nodded. "So she must be powerful if she is able to control so many people and keep everything going."

"And if she has the power to locate people like she has located us before."

There was silence as the group contemplated her statement. It was rather frightening that the Death Eaters could be mobilizing to attack them this very second, despite the hour and despite the unusual calm in the house.  _Calm before the storm,_  Hermione thought.

"How will I contact you, Hermione? While I'm finding your cure."

She shook her head, wishing it was as simple as a flick of Draco's wand to put her back to normal. "I don't know. There is no safe way."

Draco nodded, thinking. Owls were out of the question, and displaying any kind of magic signal around the Death Eater hideout was not safe either.

Hermione's head popped up - the answer was so obvious it was ridiculous. "We use mobile phones."

The group sighed, agreeing, all except for Draco, who shrugged. "Do whatever you need to do."

* * *

Harry Potter looked around the silent street. The sky hung low in wait, the sun barely peeking over the horizon and the fog stained red from the unusual sunrise. The street-lamps turned off abruptly.

"It should be just around the corner. Do you mind scouting and seeing what the situation is? For all we know, it's Malfoy's new home."

Neville nodded and jogged up the asphalt.

Harry was unusually calm for such a mission. He should have been afraid to see what awaited him in that large white house. It was too easy to be optimistic. He glanced behind him, where the golden city was spread out, still asleep. He hoped with all his might that whatever happened within the next twenty minutes, it happened without incident.

* * *

Draco ran a hand through his wet hair, looking at the fogged-up mirror. A hazy reflection stared back at him.

It was strange to talk to someone again without words, and even stranger to talk to someone who was so warm. Most people were cold, like him; everything about them felt cold, even if the emotions they displayed were happy ones. There was something so soothing about Hermione Granger's mind.

 _Damn it,_  Draco thought, running a hand through his hair again.  _Why do I have to feel this way about her?_  He wanted to find the source of his desire for her, so that he can know exactly why she made him feel the way he felt. And then he could avoid that part of her, that part of  _him_ , until the feelings went away.

The problem was that it seemed like it came from so many things, and especially things he could not change. Part of it was her understanding of him; part of it was her warmth and sincerity; another part of it was the strange ability she had to force him to feel.

Plus, she was physically drawing him in as well. She had beautiful, creamy skin, and the weight of her body when he'd carried her had been so soft, yet so solid. When he touched her, he could somehow feel her innocent, compassionate nature. It was irresistible.

And she was kind of attractive. He was starting to notice  _that_  more as well...

He needed a distraction. Now.

Draco quickly pulled a shirt over his head, striding towards the piano in the corner of the living room. His feet scraped sharply against the white hardwood as he stopped abruptly.

Hermione was sitting there already, absently playing random keys. He could tell that she was frustrated, since she couldn't see what key she was pressing without feeling the ones around it first; she was sitting too close to the piano and had poor hand position, so he knew she didn't play, but she clearly knew what the notes were since she was trying to pair up scales.

Draco sat without a word, letting Hermione stiffen next to him briefly before relaxing a bit and scooting over. Through the silence, he could hear her anticipation; her bottomless eyes were fixed on the far wall and her hands suddenly went to her lap.

"Are you going to play something?" she asked.

She had already felt what he felt, and had already been privy to memories and feelings in the deepest corners of his mind and body, so why did he still feel nervous?

Because he had wanted to get away from thoughts of her by indulging himself in a little escape time, but instead he was about to entertain her with that escape.

Draco scooted the bench back slowly until he found his spot, and ran through possible pieces in his head. He wanted to play something that didn't use the whole keyboard, since she was sitting with him, and did not feel like showing her one of his own pieces, so he settled on one she should know.

The one thing he loved about this piece was the images it created - he almost always thought of moonlight when he played it, and thought it to be appropriately named.

Hermione sucked in a breath beside him - he looked over at her. She knew this piece.

: _Moonlight Sonata?:_

Draco nodded, knowing she couldn't see it but would be able to feel, smell, and taste "Yes" in her mind. She wasn't smiling; instead, he felt something else coming from her light green mind... something like sadness. This piece sobered her. He could feel her mind almost leaning on his. He detached himself from his body a bit, letting muscle memory guide his fingers, and lessened the curtain between Hermione's mind and his own.

He received a brief shock as she went right through the partition... they were becoming the same person again, only this time, it wasn't painful. This time it felt like heaven.

Their minds were overlapping, so instead of pulling back the curtain on his naked self, it was like she was stepping into the small shower, his soul cavity, to join him.

This wasn't nearly as invasive as before, though it probably should have been, considering that he had  _never_ felt so close to someone in his life, so completely buried in someone. Her form was flaming, and from her he could feel that strange nervousness, a desperate anticipation, and something molten. He concentrated on that last emotion... confusion rippled from him; what  _was_  that? It felt incredible, like warm water down his body. He'd never sensed anything like that from someone before...

With a start he realized what it was: desire.

As soon as he realized this, the emotion consumed him, and he reflected it back at her with growing intensity.

The sensation tingled in his belly, slowing his motions and warming his core. She was so utterly close to him, raw and uninhibited; he was approaching overstimulation, between the soft weight of her body next to him, the desire like lava flowing from her, and the cool slide of the keys under his fingers.

It was like... sex.

Panic suddenly pinched him - what was he doing? Surely, whatever was going on was not safe and probably not a good idea anyway. He tried to repress everything that he was starting to feel - panic that this was wrong; panic that she would realize it; panic that eventually they would split apart and the feeling of intense closeness would be gone...

Hermione's soul perked up. She could sense the panic now, and started it in her own mind as well.

Draco crashed back to reality as a stark and unforgiving sound met his ears –

The doorbell.

Sasha bustled into the room, Amy following her; she glanced at Draco, who was still trying to recover from the strange experience he had just had. She stopped when she saw his expression.

"Is it her?" she whispered.

Draco closed his eyes, but the only mind he could sense was Hermione's slightly disappointed mind, still in limbo between full consciousness and floating in soul space. Either she needed practice or... she was still feeling heady from the connection. He shrugged slightly, indicating that it could be anyone.

Sasha nodded and went to open the door.

Draco turned his attention back to Hermione, attempting to shake off the last of his panic. She was leaning against him still, her black eyes drifting shut and her body trying to absorb his. He realized that he was still playing.

"Malfoy?"

Draco looked up, ending the piece. The last person he had expected to see was standing in the room.

" _Longbottom?_ "

Neville looked from him to Hermione, confusion on his face, his wand now pointing at the floor. "What..."

Harry Potter stepped around him, wearing the same expression. "What's going on, Hermione?"

Draco looked down at Hermione. He mentally cursed, seeing what this whole thing must look like - her leaning against him so, a dreamlike expression on her face; him  _letting_  her, and even enjoying it; him playing piano for her...

"Harry?" Hermione stood up. "Is that you, Harry?"

"Yes, Hermione, it's me," he said, still staring at the two.

Hermione's face brightened briefly before she realized why he was there. "I... just listen a second Harry, before you do anything - "

It was too late. Draco was already up, his wand pointed at the two, who had their own wands pointed at him now as well.

Hermione felt the change in the air immediately. "Hey... stop it, boys! I know this looks bad, but please hear us out!"

Harry shook his head, his hand shaking. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you, but we don't have time for that. This ends now."

"No it doesn't, Potter. This is only beginning, and we need you to be  _out_  of our way."

" _Our_  way? What is he on about, Hermione?"

Sasha looked fearfully between them, daring to speak up. "What is this? I thought you said you were friends!"

There was silence as they stared each other down, the ticking of the wall clock the only sound. Finally, Hermione spoke up. "Yes, we are all friends. All of us."

"He's tortured you, made fun of you, kidnapped you, and you think we're friends? Bullocks. Absolute bullshit - "

"Well, he's  _my_  friend, and if you love me then you will  _put your wand down now_."

Oh. She only reserved that tone for him when she was absolutely serious and ready to maim. Draco looked down at her fiery expression. His other hand found her arm and gripped it gently.

" _Get your bloody hands off of her._ "

Draco looked up at them, his wand still fixed on Harry. His face was expressionless as he did the unthinkable.

His arm encircled her shoulders.

Hermione's face turned in his direction, the fiery expression slipping into something that looked like nervousness. With her so close, he could feel her heart speed up.

"YOU'VE GOT TO BE FUCKING JOKING."

"Harry, please - we're trying to help... please understand..."

"YOU'RE FUCKING SERIOUS?"

Draco suddenly stiffened. "Potter, we don't have time for this now. You're either with us or against us, because there are Death Eaters standing at the door."

Harry stared at him as the front door exploded off its hinges.


	19. Chase Down the Moon

_"History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived, but if faced with courage, need not be lived again." - Maya Angelou_

* * *

Hermione's blood ran cold as someone slithered into her mind. It was like having her soul licked by the Devil himself; images began to flash before her eyes, flooding her vision.

"Draco!" she breathed.

"Hermione, catch!" Neville tossed a wand up in the air and pointed his own at it. " _Advenio Hermione!_ "

The wand zoomed into Hermione's hand, which she had thrown out on impulse. Her heart jumped at the familiar feel of the carved vines against her fingers as Draco moved the piano aside with a quick nonverbal spell and faced the dark figures moving into the room.

 _:Block her out! Put up a brick wall:_  Draco urged Hermione, his repressed panic flooding her senses.

Hermione closed her black eyes and shut herself down, thinking of everything solid - prisons, walls, steel, anything to prevent the pictures from forming, anything to try and block the person out.

"Now, I expected to see you here, Draco, but what's with the guests? Mrs. Worthington, you should have mentioned that you were having a party; I would have invited more friends!"

Rage boiled in Draco's heart as he drew Hermione closer to him instinctively. Master's voice was strangely different from what he remembered, but it still held the alarming madness in its tone. Harry was edging his way around the room to get a better dueling position on the intruders, Draco's actions forgotten.

The speaker revealed herself, and Harry found himself gaping at her - she was wearing an expressionless geisha mask with rosy cheeks and black eyes, and was draped in a long, fitted purple cloak over a clearly beautifully androgynous body. He had never seen a creepier looking person in his life. Harry covered his face as a foul stench wafted after her, like rotting flesh.

"Don't," Draco ground out as he felt her try to slither into his mind; he immediately filled it with a list of the nastiest spells he knew and intended to use on her. He could feel her amused smile.

Before anyone else could respond, Amy's small form exploded from behind Draco in a fury of cherry red hair and screamed, " _Glacivas!_ "

The room glowed blue as dozens of razor sharp icicles burst out of her wand point, angrily shooting towards the Death Eaters; Draco allowed himself a moment of surprise at the powerful spell before he pointed his wand directly at Master No Name.

Jesse was coming up behind them silently, her sword held high; Harry sprung into action, throwing curses without pausing for a breath. Draco knew immediately, however, that Master had one intention - apprehend the two of them.

Hermione was still twitching with effort as she tried to block out the violation in her mind, some of the most private images coming to life under her lids. She nearly vomited as she suddenly began reliving her night at Malfoy Manor, Bellatrix's high laughter mixing with her own screams.

Draco pulled her behind him. " _Ignotus!_ "

A dark curtain enclosed Master, trying to smother her; it lasted only a moment before it evaporated, but that was long enough to weaken her attack on Hermione's mind. Hermione stood up straight and clumsily reached around Draco to point her newly repaired wand. She opened her mouth, just as Master twirled her wand.

Draco blanched as Hermione fell to the ground.

" _Incarcerous!_ " Master shouted, and ropes formed around Hermione's weak form.

"Hermione!" Neville yelled, dodging an Impediment Hex.

"Nora, help!" Harry suddenly shouted.

A thunderous clap sounded in the middle of the room, halting Draco's next spell, and Nora Constable appeared, looking ready to kill. The Death Eater on Master No Name's right looked at her stupidly before pointing his wand.

"Fat chance," she muttered darkly, and he erupted in flames.

Master No Name's gasp did not escape her, and she turned to look at the other woman. "Ready, bitch?"

Instead of answering, she pointed her wand and sent a flood of black magic toward her. Nora countered with a blinding light as she attempted to fend off the darkness.

The space was much too enclosed to have a proper duel as Draco found; Jesse brought her sword hilt down on Neville's head by accident, sending him to the floor; Rubinoff, standing on Master's left, promptly tripped on a power cord and grabbed Sasha Worthington on the way down as she tried to take cover behind the fallen door. Her arms found their way around his neck from behind as she attempted to choke him the old fashioned, muggle way.

" _Castigo..._ "

A bright red spell shot out of Hermione's wand and hit the furthest Death Eater in the leg.

Draco looked away as the Death Eater, who already had icy daggers sticking out of his shoulder, crumpled. "We're leaving," he muttered, getting a better grip on Hermione's shivering form and pulling her towards the kitchen. He used his wand to try to untangle the ropes from her body.

"No..." she moaned. "We have to help them... I must get to Harry!"

Draco shook his head and picked her up, ignoring her extremely weak attempts at removing his arms. Draco was immediately warmed by the feeling of carrying her; it felt like home now, he had done it so many times.

" _They're getting away!_ " Rubinoff stormed, slamming Sasha against the wall and knocking the older woman out with a  _crack_.

"DON'T YOU DARE LEAVE, MALFOY!"

Draco ignored Harry and lied Hermione out on the counter. Softness encountered his leg, and he looked down to discover Loki, the Worthingtons' cat, rubbing against his leg and completely unaffected by the noise in the next room.

He looked at Hermione's face, noting the green tinge; it was the same spell that Rubinoff and Krokesh had used to sap away her strength. She had probably reacted better to its effects the first time due to the adrenaline that kept her moving forward; this time, she seemed to be almost completely incapacitated by it.

Draco's heart raced as he shakily filled his palm with water from the tap and rubbed a bit on her face to keep her awake. Hermione looked up at him through half closed lids, her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

"Stay with me, Hermione; I know you're tired. I can't apparate you if you're unconscious."

"But Harry..."

"I know, I know.  _Accio duffel!_  We will contact him, okay? Will that make you happy?"

Hermione closed her eyes and nodded.

"I'll keep you safe, don't worry; I'll keep you safe..." Draco chanted as he frantically looked around for the cell phones Jesse had brought home, purposely shutting down his brain before he could think of all the reasons why this was a stupid thing to do. There were three of them; one was for Draco, one for Hermione, and the last for Jesse. He snatched one of them up and ran into the living area.

"Potter, catch!" Draco threw the mobile at Harry, promptly beaning the other man on the head with it.

With that, he went into the kitchen, catching the duffel on the way, picked up Hermione, then Loki as an afterthought, and disapparated.

* * *

"THAT BLOODY COWARD, I COULD KILL HIM!"

Nora shook her head, surveying the damage. "It's fine, Harry. At least we can contact them now, and when they call, we'll track their location."

" _Them?_  I came here to get Hermione  _away_  from him, not give them another reason to stick together! And don't you think they will have thought of that? You know what he'll do; he'll say that he will destroy the phone if we try to track them!"

Neville stood up, rubbing the purple mark on his forehead where Jesse had hit him with her sword. His eyes were wide, making him look more like the boy Harry knew in school.

"Sorry about that, by the way," Jesse commented, sheathing the sword and rushing toward her mother.

Neville shook his head and waved off her apology. "It's fine, really."

Suddenly, Jesse paled. She put her head against her mother's chest, listening for a heartbeat, then checked her pulse on both her neck and her wrist.

" _Ennervate!_ " Nora said, pointing her wand at the woman. The spell rustled her clothing, but did little else.

"Mum? Mum..."

"This one's out," Harry said, picking Amy's still form off the piano seat. " _Finite incantatem._ " The full body bind released, and she hung limply in his arms, dropping her wand to the floor.

"MUM! Stop it, you're scaring me!" Jesse buried her face in her mother's chest, hugging her.

"Rubinoff must have... broken her neck against the wall," Neville said quietly, fearfully, noting the strange angle to which Sasha's head was turned.

There was silence except for Jesse's sobs; Harry picked the phone off the floor and flipped it open, searching the address book.

"There's nothing in here," he said quietly, leaning against the glass partition that separated him from the garden. "How are we supposed to call them?"

Neville shook his head as he rubbed Jesse's back.

* * *

Draco set Hermione and Loki against a tree, looking around. He had been dodging around for hours; it was nearly midday. They had managed to get into the mountains and lose the Death Eaters in the tall grasses and steely sharp rocks. He and Hermione were currently nearly halfway up a mountain; the air was frosty, scorching their throats as they gasped.

"I'm going to kill you," Hermione said, letting Loki climb off her stomach and shakily pocketing her newly repaired wand.

"I know."

"They're probably dead, or taken prisoner by No Name, and you don't care."

"I know."

Hermione paused. "You're a prick!"

Draco smirked, just shaking his head. "I know."

Loki, whose spirits seemed to be also unaffected by the onslaught of apparition after apparition, rubbed her head against Hermione's hand, and Hermione immediately simmered down enough to stroke her tiredly. "Being mad at you is too stressful," she muttered.

"Then don't be. We're alive."

Hermione huffed and got comfortable, trying not to aggravate her newly opened scabs. Her body was so stressed that she just felt like crying. Her eyes stung briefly.

"I've got the numbers. And the mobile. You can talk to Potter if you want."

"He can track us here with it, you know."

Draco nodded, his expression solid and cold. "Not if he wants to talk, he won't."

Hermione rolled her eyes and reached out her hand, which fell to her side after a second. Her eyebrows furrowed with effort.

He hated to see her like this. The cell phone dropped next to her on the ground, and she snatched it up, before remembering that she couldn't see the numbers. She tossed the phone back toward him, Draco barely catching it before it smacked into his chest. "Type in the first number string and press the big button," she said with a sigh.

Draco typed them in and handed the phone to Hermione.

 _"Is this ri - Hermione?"_  It was Neville.

"Yes, Neville, it's me. We're fine." There was some commotion.

_"HERMIONE?"_

"Ron? Ron!"

_"I miss you so much, I can't even tell you, it's been SHIT here without you!"_

"Oh my god Ron, I've missed you too! I - "

Draco snatched the phone away. "Listen here, Weasel. Don't even  _think_  about trying to - hey, quit it, Granger! - I mean it. If you try to track us I'll destroy the mobile! Where... am I talking into the right place?"

"How the hell would I know? I'm BLIND, remember?"

There was more commotion.  _"WHEN I GET THROUGH WITH YOU, FERRET, YOU'LL HAVE TO FUCK SIDEWAYS!"_

"I heard that, Ron..." Hermione sighed, her head in her hands.

_" - ENTRAILS WILL BECOME YOUR EX-TRAILS -"_

"Shut it, Weasel, and get Potter."

A loud crash sounded, and then silence, before someone spoke.  _"Draco Malfoy? This is Nora Constable of the Department of Magical Defense."_

"... Okay, and?"

_"It might interest you to know that Sasha Worthington, the woman who answered the door, died this morning with a broken neck."_

Draco's heart stopped. "She... she's dead?"

"Who's dead?" Hermione asked fearfully.

_"Yes, and it appears the youngest daughter has yet to wake up; she's in St. Mungo's receiving treatment for spell damage and a few broken ribs."_

"What of Jesse?"

_"Jessika is here, answering some questions - she's emotionally scathed but otherwise unharmed. Do you want to know why I am telling you this?"_

"Because you want me to feel guilty."

_"About dragging people into your scheme, yes. But I don't want to lecture you; I have a proposition."_

Draco steadied his breathing and reformed his emotional mask. "Shoot."

_"You helped us this morning, and we are willing to return the favor now that we know your true intentions. Give Hermione back to us, and I'll petition the Wizengamot to pardon your crimes during your time as a Death Eater. The kidnapping, evading authorities, and use of dark magic I can do nothing about, nor can I help your reputation, but any sentence you serve in Azkaban could be greatly reduced."_

Draco risked a look at Hermione, pouting against the tree. What would she say if he told her the proposition? She would agree; she would come up with a million reasons why it would be the best thing to do, and she would convince him to let her go... just let her go and face the inevitable future that he knew was coming anyway.

But he didn't want to.

He had to be crazy, absolutely insane, for even contemplating throwing this away. But... he wanted her to stay with him. He wanted her help, wanted her there to hit him, yell at him, roll her black eyes at him, laugh at him... he wanted her there to understand him and comfort him. If he let her go, he doubted that she would ever come back to him, ever come to see him or admit that she felt similar.

Draco nonverbally cast a silencing spell around himself.

"I want her with me, Ms. Constable. I don't want to give her back."

There was a few seconds of silence before the woman spoke again, sounding slightly interested.  _"You would rather risk spending the rest of your life in Azkaban than ensure her safety?"_

"That's just it; she's safe with me. And I'm safe with her. And... I don't have a future, and I already knew that. But I still have a present."

_"I don't understand, Draco."_

"Neither do I... I just can't let her go right now. My life is already empty enough."

Nora was silent, obviously surprised by this admission.

"So... no. Maybe I'll change my mind later, but right now... no."

_"I think I understand what is happening. If that is your decision, then when the time does come for you to stand trial - and it will - I will enter this conversation as evidence in your favor, if that's okay with you."_

Draco couldn't even process her words. "Yes, sure, okay."

_"In the meantime... just please keep her safe. And don't hurt her."_

Draco nodded and said a quick goodbye before closing the cell phone, wondering how much Nora Constable could tell through his words.

Nora Constable closed her own mobile with a snap, ignoring the boys shouting at each other to her right.

She sighed, realizing what a giant mess she was in. _Fucking teenagers_.


	20. Anything Can Happen in the Next Half Hour

_"Any fool can criticize, condemn, and complain but it takes character and self-control to be understanding and forgiving." - Dale Carnegie_

* * *

 

Nora entered the room and closed the heavy door behind her. There was a fake mirror on one wall, surrounded by three walls of a sickly white-green paint on low-quality stone. Jesse Worthington sat on one end of a table, her head in her arms and her normally bone straight hair curling into waves.

"I'm sorry about the formality of this, Jesse, but it is necessary to appease the law, as you know."

Jesse nodded, not lifting her head.

"I know you have been questioned already but given the gravity of the situation, all witnesses must be thoroughly picked through before they can be released. And... I do mean picked through."

"You have to have a look at my memories then." It wasn't a question.

Nora sighed. "Yes." She gestured to the pensieve attached to a projector on the table.

"I'll need my wand."

Nora handed her the magic sword and Jesse carefully unscrewed the blade, setting it on the table in front of her. She detached the wand from the hilt and pointed it at her head.

"Please retrieve every memory you have of their encounters, their conversations, or their interaction."

Jesse nodded, putting the first silver stream into the pensieve. It glittered briefly and then returned to swirling silver.

Nora left her to her task, knowing that it was likely to take at least a half hour. She walked down the corridor and opened the door at the end.

"Harry, we have things to discuss. I'll see you in my office now."

Harry Potter got up from his chair and followed her to a brightly lit room with a wide, black desk against the far wall; large fake windows covered with thin metal shutter blinds cast lines across the plain white walls. He sat down heavily on the couch next to the door and waited for her to speak.

"You can't stay angry with me, Harry," she said warmly.

Harry shook his head. He had simmered down from his rage after the confrontation the day before, but he was still angry with the lot of them. "He doesn't deserve what you offered."

Nora crossed her arms over her chest. "There is something I didn't want the others to know that I need to tell you."

Harry looked up.

"He declined because he wanted to stay with her. He wanted her there with him."

" _What?_ "

"I know. He said, 'I can't let her go; my life is empty enough.'"

Harry looked back at his hands, folded in his lap. He spoke quietly. "Does this mean that the reports we've been getting - fake though they were - about them looking like lovers were actually true?"

Nora shook her head. "I think there is something romantic happening between them; you told me about how you found them, cupcaking at the piano, and then Hermione's reluctance to leave his side. Then coupled with Malfoy's words, it starts to make sense."

Harry shook his head. "I don't hate him the way I used to... but - "

"Ron, I know," Nora put forth.

Harry looked up. "Exactly."

"Also, I noticed something else that seemed strange. Did you notice how quickly No Name left after Malfoy disapparated? And she wasn't even trying to win our duel; I expected more from the witch who controls the Death Eaters. They are, imaginably, a rowdy bunch."

Harry nodded. "The spell she used against Hermione was pretty fierce, though. Is she afraid of you?"

"She should be. She murdered my twin brother, after all."

"Really?"

"Yes. Admittedly, I knew taking this case personally, even though it is slightly out of my jurisdiction, would lead me straight to her. And that is what I wanted. Even though my brother was involved with the dark arts, he did not deserve to die. He was so talented in so many ways."

"So... he refused to join them? And they killed him?"

Nora shrugged, obviously fighting the sadness that wanted to creep into her expression. "That's what we figured. This happened before I came to this position."

Harry nodded. He knew what it felt like to lose people because of the Death Eaters and their madness.

"Don't be disappointed. It just means she will be easier to get rid of. Besides, for all we know, the woman you dueled was a decoy."

Nora smiled sadly. "If so, let's hope she's just as weak. Also, I need you to realize that even though this case's importance has doubled now that we know their mission... I still have my regular duties to address. I know the relationship you have with the Ministry's activities is mostly freelance, which allows you to focus on certain things... but mine is a formal one. I'm the head of the Department of Defense."

"I know. This  _does_  fall in your jurisdiction - protecting her is part of protecting the magical community."

Nora shook her head. "I had to pull strings to get this case on my desk alone - it does concern my department, but I need you to understand that I do not normally do this, and it's... it's taking a toll on my other responsibilities."

Shifting in his chair, Harry shook his head. "Don't do this to us, Nora..."

"I'm not renouncing the case," she backpedaled quickly. "I didn't say I was. I just... I need you to get over however you feel about those two working together,  _without you_ , and try to find out as much as you can about their mission. Details, I mean, as detailed as you can get. You know how to do this, I'm sure." Harry nodded. "Now that I've seen the master with no name, so many theories that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has come up with need to be evaluated... also, the Department of International Magical Cooperation needs a full report, especially since we know for a fact that their hideout is not in Europe... this is a lot bigger than just Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy."

Yes, it was. He was being immature about this - nothing is ever as simple as hate and dislike, good and evil. There were always other forces at work; he especially knew this to be true.

"Anyway, Jesse is supplying the memory evidence for you to examine, Jasper from the International Confederation of Wizards wants to talk, and I've got a meeting with the Minister and the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in a few minutes to report on yesterday... in the meantime I need you to talk to Amy Worthington, who apparently came out of her stupor this morning. Sasha's funeral services will be in the afternoon... and I don't want to make you do this, but her daughter has the right to know, though she cannot attend in her condition."

Harry nodded. "Okay."

"And if Malfoy or Hermione calls... try to be understanding and tactful, Harry. That's your new task."

He looked away. He didn't really want to think about having to be understanding with them, though he knew it was for the greater good. He shouldn't have to be understanding - everything should have worked out the day before...

* * *

Hermione cuddled Loki to her chest, listening to the sounds of Draco's footsteps through the foliage. She was giving him the silent treatment, as much as it pained her; she wanted nothing more than to talk with him, talk about what happened at the piano. She was sure that she had never felt something so amazing in her life, and that included her time spent under the influence of Felix Felicis.

"Are you just going to ignore me?" he asked quietly.

That stung a bit; it was not in his nature to ask something like that. "I'm still angry with you, Draco."

"I know."

Hermione turned her head away, wishing for the millionth time that she could see his expression. She was actually waiting for him to apologize, but it seemed like the closest thing she would get was his understanding of how she felt.

"You do realize why, right?" she murmured, trying to coax some remorse out of him.

" _Finite incantatem,_ " he muttered, and she gently touched down on the ground.

She grimaced, not expecting to be ignored. "Why did we stop?" she asked, turning her head in vain. She was next to a tree; she pushed her back against it, wondering if they had reached a magical forest.

"I need a minute," he said shortly, and stalked away.

When he was far enough away, Draco sank to the ground.

She was suffocating him again, stealing his sanity. He thought back to his conversation with the Department of Defense lady the day before and cringed. Why had he told her so much, when he didn't even think he could admit it to himself? It frightened him quite a bit, frightened him more than he cared to think about.

How could Hermione ignore him so while he was feeling like this? After yesterday, everything seemed so uncertain to him. He was afraid to attempt to carry her, wondering how she would react, so he'd had to levitate her, even though it forced him to concentrate on keeping her in the air. He was afraid to try to speak with her without words, with his emotions - what if she tried to shut him out, or if she felt something like hurt, disgust, hatred, or any of the numerous negative things she could feel about him?

What if she got angry with him and demanded that he take her back to her friends?

He was purposely keeping her away from her friends, even though it was dawning on him that this little escapade was incredibly foolish. She would not be happy when she found out that he had pointedly rejected a bribe that would basically make everything better. He was such a selfish person, and he was reminded of that more than ever.

 _You don't think of anyone's wants but your own. That is why you are cowardly and unable to do what you need to do_. He clamped his hands over his ears, his father's psychobabble ringing loudly in his head.

Loki, seeming to notice the stress Draco was under, weaved through the gap in his legs and rubbed her head against his hand. He immediately relaxed; this cat was really starting to grow on him.

Suddenly, something clapped him on the shoulder.

Without thinking, Draco pulled the person around him and pinned them under his legs, his wand out.

"Draco!"

It was Hermione.

Draco blinked, his wand point still pressed into her neck. He released her at once. "I-I didn't realize it was you..."

"Who else would it be?" Hermione snapped, her eyes filling with tears anyway. It seemed like every time he touched her like that, her heartbeat went crazy.

"Look - don't cry. You know I didn't mean it."

Hermione turned away from his voice, stifling tears as she rose to her feet. "It's okay, it's not that." She had felt that electrifying thrill again, at being pinned down in such a way.

Draco got up, looking around for something to kick. His eyes settled on a tree and he kicked it, hard, a few times. He didn't feel better afterward, as he thought he would; his foot throbbed painfully and he cursed. He had to scream or something; his eyes settled on his arm, one which he could almost completely see his past rages.

Loki looked up at them expectantly and meowed.

Draco huffed, trying to control his breathing, and stalked over to the dropped duffel. He enlarged it to normal size and rummaged through it, knowing already that they had packed nothing that the cat would want to eat. He settled on one of the water bottles.

After he'd conjured a dish and filled it with water, Loki made her way over to it quickly. It had been a while since Draco had had an animal to care for; the ones he did own were his owl, Balthazar, given to him by his father, and his cat, Pewter, a gift from his uncle. Pewter was a pureblood Russian Blue and would only allow himself to be picked up, fed, or handled by Draco or the house elves.

Draco smirked a bit, his bad mood beginning to fade. Loki was a lot friendlier than his cat back at the Manor; he wondered briefly how Pewter was holding up in his absence.

"I've given Loki some water," Draco said. He then took out some food and gave it to Hermione, who nodded thanks and ate slowly. "We might as well rest for a bit."

His stomach was getting too fluttery to allow him to eat these days. He reopened the water bottle and drank some.

"Are we ever going to talk about yesterday?" Hermione asked quietly.

Draco gulped, staring straight ahead. "No, we aren't."

He wasn't sure what he would say about it, or how much it would reveal, and - once again - he highly doubted that she felt even remotely like he did.

Hermione turned away from his voice so he couldn't see her hurt expression. Of course he didn't want to talk about it; she was trying to initiate what felt like a "the morning after" conversation with him and he was the type to avoid those things. She understood this, and even felt the same way a bit, but... she wanted to tell him something. She couldn't figure out what it was exactly, but she wanted the conversation to start so... she could say something about it.

They sat in silence until Loki wandered off, having had her fill of water. Draco conjured a lid for the dish and put it in his bag. "Let's get moving," he said, and helped Hermione up. She was still a bit weak from Master No Name's spell, but was managing a lot better today. Besides, levitating took very little energy for the person being levitated.

Loki came back, munching on a cricket, and followed them.


	21. So Simple

_"Our anxiety does not come from thinking about the future, but from wanting to control it." - Kahlil Gibran_

* * *

Nightfall came faster than they anticipated; they'd had a brief scare of a potential Death Eater, but it turned out to be muggle hikers trekking through the mountains. Draco had rolled his eyes and apparated them to a different location.

He managed to find a rocky water spot and dipped his hands in the water.

"Good god, that's cold," he muttered, shaking his hand off. He gathered some of it anyway in the water bottles and charmed it to purify itself.

"You know, you could just use  _aguamenti_."

"Shut up," he countered. He looked over at Hermione, realizing that he'd just snapped at her for no reason, and backpedaled. "I know that. There are some things I don't like to use magic for, like food. It's weird."

Hermione frowned at the tone she remembered from their Hogwarts days and took out her wand. " _Attula ringo._ " The leaves in front of her feet transformed into an apple.

Draco ignored her munching and made his way over to the side of the miniature valley they were in. After casting a silencing charm on the area, he said, " _Defodio!_ " The rock carved itself away to form a cave.

"I guess we're turning in here?"

"Yes. Come on." He tugged her into the cave, followed by Loki, who looked around tentatively. Draco joined them after a minute, and immediately went to the bag to get out the blanket he'd packed.

Hermione turned her body in the direction the wind was coming from, figuring this to be the entrance, and pointed her wand. " _Cave inimicum!_ "

Draco turned to her. "Since when did you know that spell?"

She shrugged, putting her wand away and continuing to munch on the apple. The spell probably wasn't necessary, but she was happy to get her wand back. "Harry and I used it while we were on the run to strengthen the defenses of our campsite."

Draco nodded and laid out the blanket - besides how he felt about her, she really was useful. He walked over to her and steered her carefully to the blanket. "I'll be back," he muttered after she got comfortable.

Hermione snuggled into the fabric, ignoring the hardness pressing against her from underneath it. He was clearly distracted - he'd forgotten to clear the rocky bits away before laying out the blanket. She allowed herself a small smile, the first one since the day before.

Draco came back before long, finding Hermione in the process of trying to force herself asleep; he removed his shoes and laid down beside her, turning away from her concentrated face.

Just as Hermione predicted, her breathing became unsteady.

Draco cursed at the blanket - it was thick and big, but not enough to mask the rocks underneath nor enough to allow them sufficient personal space. Hermione absently snuggled closer to him to avoid the sharp rocks at her back, and the warm smell of apples clouded his senses.

It was going to be an awkward night, he knew. He sighed angrily, wishing things could be simple again.

As he was beginning to drift off, he felt a flutter against his mind.

It was her, he knew - she was waiting outside the curtain, afraid to peer around it, yet knowing that it will reveal the occupant anyway. Draco repressed his panicked thoughts and considered her intentions.

 _:Are you awake?:_  came a quiet sound.

Well, yes, but that was beside the point of course. He stomped on what he wanted to say and focused on the connection, letting the partition between their minds dissipate so they could talk.

 _:Yes.:_  he answered, making sure he let the tiredness his body felt fill his emotional self so she knew that she was disturbing him.

Unexpectedly, she went through the now invisible partition and cuddled her mind against his. He was briefly surprised before he smiled an actual smile, letting its warmth fill his soul cavity.

Of course.

While she knew he didn't want to talk about this, she knew of course that he wouldn't mind doing it again.

Both of them had been confused before, but they were now sure of what this was. Her form was blazing with what seemed like happiness, though if Draco narrowed his mind and concentrated, he could sense something like… her heartbeat. It was beating like crazy.

She was excited, desire brimming just under the surface. And she would not be able to hide that fact in the morning.

He let this thought bubble to his mind, knowing that she would feel it; she was bashful for a few seconds before pushing it away.

However amazing it felt have his mind and soul shared with her, he knew that they were both afraid to try anything beyond this. She could press her naked mind against his all she wanted, but once they forced themselves back into their physical selves... things changed. There, it seemed a little more absolute, a little more final, and a little more nerve-wracking. At least, he figured it would be.

Although, everything in his life had always felt more real because of his emotions, not because of his senses.

The connection threatened to spill over into the physical after a while; even though he had detached from his physical self, he could still feel his heart begin to speed as Hermione's thin hand reached across his chest in an attempt to get closer. His mind receded a bit, merging slightly with his physical self, and his body started to react to the pleasure his mind was receiving.

The girl probably didn't realize that she had done it; being so absolutely close to him emotionally was obviously making her delirious again. This thrilled him a bit, and he consciously let go of the last shred of doubt and hesitance in his mind, allowing himself to feel happy that even if she didn't feel the way he felt about her, she was not opposed to connecting with him this way.

* * *

Hermione awoke slowly, noting that her back was exposed to a raw chill that came with the early morning. The warming spell that she had cast the night before had worn off, though it was supposed to last much longer. It was so much easier to stay asleep when she opened her eyes to darkness and closed them to vision... her dream had definitely not wanted to be interrupted by dull blackness and a cold butt –

Oh!

The warmth in front of her was Draco's back, which she was nearly flush against, her arm draping around him.

Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. When had she done that?

She carefully attempted to remove her arm, not knowing if there was anything in the way; she realized immediately that he was clutching her hand.

 _Well, there's no reason for me to get up if he's still asleep,_  she rationalized, secretly enjoying the warmth versus the cold at her back. She moved a bit closer and fell back asleep.

It was late morning when she awoke again; she was warm all over, but there was definitely nothing in front of her now. She kept her eyes closed and listened.

Draco was standing a few paces in front of the entrance to the cave, having a conversation on the mobile.

" - would be dangerous, and you know it... No, don't play dumb with me, Potter; the second you try to 'covertly' investigate the location, the rest of the department will be all over it, and then the Minister would get all pippy about it and demand search parties and whatnot... what? No!... no, that's not it... Look, you're just going to have to trust me. I've told you their weaknesses, and now you know... so? The least you can do is get some trustworthy and practiced people together and train them - wait, Hermione's awake."

Hermione sat up, wondering what gave her away. "Is that Harry?" she asked, stretching her repairing muscles.

"Yes, it is - hold on a second, did you hear what I said? Yes - get people and  _train_  them. You know that is what No Name would do... well, if you want a bunch of bumbling idiots to try to take her down, then be my guest, but you are  _not_ going to get Hermione killed because you think you can handle it... hey...  _shut it, I'm just saying_... YES, I THINK I CAN DO IT BETTER!"

Hermione cringed as she heard some birds leave the trees in the distance. Hadn't he put a silencing charm on the area?

"You're shouting around while our enemies are bearing down upon us - give me the phone!"

Draco stalked over to her and thrust the cell phone into her hands. A confused look came over his face when their fingers touched briefly, but he was too angry to think about it now. He plopped down on the blanket.

"Harry? It's Hermione."

_"... Hi, Hermione… how are you?"_

"Fine... I just woke up."

_"Well, I guess I meant to ask how things are as Malfoy's prisoner."_

She knew that they would have this conversation sooner or later. "Hold on," she said quickly and removed the phone from her ear. "I need to talk to Harry, Draco. Would you mind?"

"Whatever you need to say, you can say it in front of me." Hermione's face hardened, and Draco knew he wasn't going to win this one. "Fine. But keep it short." He got up and left the cave.

"Okay... things are good with us."

_"I guess I'm still in shock. I thought for sure you were in absolute hell and couldn't wait to get free... but you seemed fine."_

Hermione's heart fell a bit - yes, she knew what she was supposed to feel around him, and what she was supposed to feel now that she'd been given an excellent opportunity to be rid of him and had blatantly ignored it. "Please don't make me feel guilty, Harry. You know how things can change."

_"I want you to feel guilty, so I don't have to accept it... so I'm sorry; I know this is on me. Ron isn't taking this well though."_

"How much have you told him?"

_"I told him that you like each other."_

Hermione was silent for a few seconds before she let him have it. "Are you completely  _mad?_  You know what Ron is like with things like this - he must be furious! Besides our relationship  _not_  being romantic, where is your tact, Harry James Potter? I ought to hex you where you stand!"

 _"Don't be like that, when you know it's your fault anyway,"_  he snapped. " _You should have told Ron yourself; instead, I had to watch him break apart."_

"No," Hermione mumbled, shaking her head. "I won't let you do this to me because it's Malfoy."

_"That's only a tiny part of this, and you know it. This has everything to do with betrayal, wasted effort, and making us look and feel like idiots because in reality, you two were just fine together, alone, shagging in the bloody forest!"_

Hermione's faced reddened. She immediately thought of what she had done the previous night, and the guilt that she had rejected before began to seep into her heart. "It's not like that, and I can't believe you'd think that about me, Harry!" she retorted shakily.

 _"I don't care. I honestly don't. And here's another thing - "_  There was some arguing in the background, and the line suddenly changed tones.

_"Hermione?"_

Hermione forced herself to calm down. "Is this Nora?"

_"Yes. I apologize about Harry's behavior; he's got more mood swings than - don't give me that look, Harry Potter! ... Sorry, he's just surprised about the change in your relationship with Malfoy."_

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

_"None of us can wrap our heads around it, but they are taking it exceptionally poorly since you all have a history with him."_

"He's acting like we eloped or something, it's maddening! He knows me better than that."

_"I wouldn't worry about it - he'll come around, as will your other friends. On a more serious note, I do have a few questions for you. I'm beginning to build a case for this, since I have a feeling it will inevitably lead to Master No Name's downfall. Is there anything you can tell me about you two's goal?"_

"Just that we're going to find a way to take out her, only her, and thus leave the Death Eaters leaderless and unable to mobilize."

_"In order to do that, wouldn't you need to know the location of the Death Eater's base of operations?"_

Hermione knew where this was going. "He hasn't told me where it is, and even if he had, I couldn't tell you. The more people that know about it, the more chance there is that everything will blow up in our faces."

Nora clucked her tongue.  _"Jesse told us the same thing. So Draco is the only one who knows the location?"_

"Yes."

 _"I see. Secondly, I wanted to ask about your relationship with Draco. How did you two come to like each other?_ "

Hermione wanted to refute the question, saying that they did not like each other like that... Harry's outburst still rang in her ears, and she felt her face begin to pink again... but even though she knew she could not admit it, it was probably true. "We're friends, Nora," she said, hoping the other woman would not find the response odd.

_"Yes, I said that, but how did it happen?"_

Oh no! She had been testing her to see how Hermione had taken the question; now she must know that there is something more going on. Hermione suppressed her panic. "I could probably blame it on the circumstances. I'm blind... so I need someone to make sure I don't smack into things; the Death Eaters want me for some plan, so in order to foil it Draco needed to keep me away from them."

_"Ah... I'll touch on the plan in a second, but before I forget, I must ask you about the day you were kidnapped - how did it happen?"_

Hermione sighed. "I was walking back to the house I was staying in after eating out, and two Death Eaters came around the corner and disarmed me. I ran, ran for at least ten minutes... and then they zapped me with the Noctulous Curse just as I saw Draco come from out of the shadows. And... I blacked out after that. The next thing I knew, Draco was carrying me through the forest."

 _"Okay..."_  Nora was obviously trying to make notes on a parchment pad.  _"What about after that? Where did you two go?"_

"Hermione, I hope you aren't giving her a full synopsis of what's happened since that night."

She ignored him, wondering how long he had been standing there. "We had the occasional run-in with a Death Eater, but managed to avoid them until we supplied in Shandwick, a small village north of Edinburgh."

"You say 'we' as if you had some part in any of this - " Draco grumbled, looking away. Potter had put him in a foul mood, and he didn't want to think about how awful he had been to her in the beginning.

_"And they found you, and tried to capture you there, destroying the place in the process. After that, we thought you had traveled south to London and went to France from there... or maybe apparated until you ended up in France somehow, because we had evidence that pointed us there. How did you get to Norway?"_

"Muggle boat," she said, ignoring Draco's hand on her arm. "The family we were staying with when you came was the family of the boat owner."

"Don't do it, Granger," Draco whispered. "If they know that the Worthingtons were involved in dark artifact trafficking, they won't release Jesse to find your cure."

Hermione stopped. He had a point, but she thought that she knew Nora better than to think she would imprison Jesse. She covered the phone mouthpiece. "If I tell her and ask her not to imprison Jesse, she'll find a way. Besides, maybe the Ministry has access to such cures; she might not even have to search."

Draco shrugged. "Either way, be careful." Jesse was a decent person and a valuable asset to their cause; Draco did not want her to be under Ministry control for very long.

"Frank Worthington used the boat for dark artifact trafficking, though the family was supposedly muggle; we didn't find out that the daughters were witches until later."

_"What about the mother, Sasha? Was she a witch? We did find faint traces of previous spell damage on her person, so we figured her to be a witch who traded her wizard lifestyle for a muggle one."_

"Well, she knew about my - wait a second, what do you mean, 'was'?"

_"... She died that morning. Rubinoff broke her neck."_

Hermione's breath caught; she dropped the phone and let her tired body fall to the rocky ground, gasping.

Draco took out his wand quickly. " _Anapneo!_ "

She choked briefly, her hand over her heart.

He picked up the phone. "Thanks, Constable. I was going to tell her."

_"Please call me Nora - and I apologize; I thought you had told her already."_

"No."

_"... Well, in any case, forgive the whole inquisition thing, but since we have the means to contact you, we have our best witnesses for these events available for questioning."_

"I thought you lot were planning on sending me off to Azkaban."

_"If you had wanted to avoid Azkaban, then you'd have turned Hermione in immediately after rescuing her from her pursuers. You'd be in Azkaban right now, looking forward to a few months from now when your case could be appealed or you'd get off on good behavior and can start your life fresh. Now you are looking at years, possibly ten to fifteen if you turn her in, and if not, twenty-five to life imprisonment for riding this out."_

"You're lecturing again," he informed her, his amused mask hiding the fear in his heart.

_"I tend to do that. Anyway, I was asking her about your activities since her 'disappearance.' I wanted to know so that we can see the Death Eater attack pattern. I have other questions for her of course, whenever she is ready to tell me the answers."_

"So it's not me you want to talk to, then."

_"I never said that. You and I will have a serious conversation in the future, but right now I need to hear her side first. So whenever she's feeling up to it, call us back, and if not, we'll call again in a few days."_

Draco nodded. "Alright then. We'll talk later." He closed the phone, disconnecting, and faced Hermione. "You know these mobile things suck, I could barely hear her... Hermione?"

She shook her head, tears falling from between the fingers covering her face. "It's because... the reception... in this area..."

Draco didn't really know what to do - he could count on one hand the number of times he had ever comforted someone, and he had never consoled anyone after a friend had died.

"Hermione..." Just as his arm encircled her tense shoulders, Loki came out of nowhere, rubbing her side against Hermione's leg, forcing the girl out of her fetal position. Hermione picked the cat up and hugged her, not being able to see Draco's disappointed look.


	22. Love is Not the Enemy

_"Thy beauty shall no more be found,_

_Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound_

_My echoing song; then worms shall try_

_That long preserv'd virginity,_

_And your quaint honour turn to dust,_

_And into ashes all my lust._

_The grave's a fine and private place,_

_But none I think do there embrace."_

_\- Andrew Marvell, "To His Coy Mistress"_

* * *

 

She had been shut in her chambers for a few hours now, knowing that it was very unlikely that anyone would disturb her until she was ready to be. With the abduction mission a failure, she needed to focus her mind on a different part of the overall plan to calm down.

Hermione Granger was proving to be more trouble than she was worth.

With the slow, steady dismantling of the muggleborn prosecution system that the Ministry and magical world had adopted, Granger was kept fairly busy. She was supposed to become the posterchild for such efforts, especially since she'd had been partially responsible for the Dark Lord's demise.

Master had honestly expected that capturing Granger while she was on holiday would be somewhat simple… with no one watching her, sucking up to her, listening to her…

Master traced a finger along the wood of her new device. Oh yes - she would retrieve the Granger girl's memories first - memories of the internal goings on of the Order of the Phoenix, memories of Harry Potter and others, memories of the most private musings and weaknesses of her friend... through her, the dark side could bring him down for the pain he had delivered, for the uproar that a seventeen year old boy had caused.

She hated him with every fiber of her being.

Then after the memories, she would break dear Hermione against the machine. But first... she needed to know if it would work. Would it purify her?

Master had thought about this many times: what was it that made Hermione Granger, and other people like her, what they were? What was the composition of a mudblood?

She was a scientist above all else - she would be the first to dissect the wizard gene, the smallest code of DNA that made people magical versus non.

And then, she could purify the rest of the world.

She was so close, and Hermione Granger was the missing piece of the puzzle, because she fit so perfectly. A shot against the great Harry Potter, a shot against the Ministry... and the gift of magic for the rest of humankind.

But this could only happen if Hermione was captured.

Oh, she'd have her fun with her for causing so much trouble...

* * *

"It's time we stopped the defense and started our offense."

Hermione nodded, rubbing small circles in the glossy surface of her conjured apple. She was getting addicted to this fruit. "I agree."

He looked at her closely, seeing the sadness behind her expression. He knew that she was still grieving over the loss of Sasha, who had been the comforting, motherly figure that she had needed to overcome the fear of her blindness. "Hermione, realize that we have quite a while to travel before we reach there. Portkey would be fastest, but it would also be the easiest to trace. I talked to Nora; she suspects that this is how the Death Eaters found our exact location."

"Harry took a  _portkey_  to Norway? Is he mad?"

Draco shrugged. "Nora said that Master sent her cronies to Norway much before that and had managed to find someone who remembered seeing us that day we went shopping - a priest. They killed him as bait for Potter's outfit, and Potter of course took the bait. After the portkey was registered, Death Eaters probably just came to the same place."

"So it wasn't coincidence that Harry and the Death Eaters arrived at the same time?"

"Probably."

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"The only other thing I can think of to get there... is the muggle way." There was a slight note of disgust in his voice.

She picked up on this immediately; she could sense racism like the rest of her kind, since she was brought up to look down on no one. "Please tell me you aren't still hanging on to your beliefs about race, Draco."

Draco shuffled his folded arms. "I... can't help it... it's hard to get over."

Hermione nodded slowly, letting the waves of disappointment crash over her. "It's really quite easy to get over," she replied tartly. "I know wizards are brought up to think of muggles as animals, no better than monkeys, but since you have spent almost a whole month in the  _home_  of muggles, and nearly two months in the presence of a muggleborn, I would  _assume_  that you have learned something about these people."

Draco shook his head. He was of course confused about the conflicting information; he had grown to respect Hermione, Jesse, Amy, Sasha, Tim, and Frank as individuals rather than as people belonging to certain groups.

Frank had confused him the most – Draco had looked into the eyes of the inferior being and had wished he could be as carefree, wished he could be as giving and as friendly. While Frank didn't exactly make an honest living, he was as honest as he could be despite it, and was blissfully unaware of the dangerous nature of the cargo he was "sneakily" transporting.

Tim was another story; while the man had gotten on Draco's nerves because he resembled the bookworm caricature of Hermione Granger, he was also exceedingly helpful and caring. He was another inferior being, one who Draco disliked because he envied that kind of attitude toward life, where it was okay to give and give and just appreciate waking up to sunlight.

Jesse was a witch, but was living a half-life, the life of a witch under the guise of a muggle. She was half-blood, and yet was more cunning than a lot of Draco's pureblood acquaintances; he wouldn't wish any of his former mates to have a duel with her, because not only were they likely to have their egos completely shat upon, but they were also likely to be missing an arm or two afterward.

Hermione... he couldn't even think of the countless times he'd been mean to her. Of course, he'd thought nothing of it before. To him she had always been just another muggleborn; the only thing that made her stand out was how easily she invited torment based on her personality, interests, and friends. But in reality, she was intelligent, strong, and extremely loving and sincere.

Yes... the lot of them just completely muddled his beliefs. He still could not get the Neanderthal picture out of his head when he thought about muggles, but he also knew that some muggles and half-breeds were worth respecting.

"How do you think of me, Draco? I know you hate me... you've hated me all this time, haven't you?"

He turned to face her, willing the strong aversion to her statement to die before he said anything he would regret. "Let's focus on how we are getting to the Death Eater base - "

" _Haven't you?_ " Her black eyes were wild with tears.

He needed to say something to dispel this thought from her head, but what was he to say? Should he tell her the truth - that despite her birth, despite her previous relationship with him, and despite her allegiance to Potter, he was...

He was  _falling_  for her?

"Hermione, I - "

"See? I can't tell you how many times you've called me 'Hermione' since that morning! It was always 'Granger.' It had always been that, or 'Mudblood' when you were feeling mean."

"Look, you know I - "

"Stop dancing around the bloody question! Do you hate me? I should -  _expelliarmus!_ "

Draco's wand left his pocket and thwacked against a tree a few yards away, tumbling into the foliage. Hermione threw down her apple and started toward him clumsily, her wand raised.

"Hermione, we don't have time for this - "

" _Au contraire._  We've got nothing  _but_  time for this!"

Draco's back made contact with a wide tree trunk; Hermione's wand tip was now poking into his chest. Though she was as blind as she had been the second that spell had hit her, she looked as though she was staring directly at him, directly through him. At this proximity, he could distinctly see tan freckles dotted across her pale nose, the small baby hairs lining her hairline...

Hermione's resolve faltered as his breath pooled on her face. Her fierce expression began to harden with sadness. She sucked in a gasp, trying to keep tears from falling. "To think that all this time, I've been understanding you, been dissecting your pain, and have even felt guilty, felt bad, for you... I wanted to see through you and piece together the memories that we share now because of that night... I wanted to hurt the world for making you feel like that."

Draco gulped - the apple-cider smell of her breath was almost painful to have so close.

"I felt bad for every ill thought I ever had about you... but you could see none of that... the only thing you ever saw was my unworthiness, your hatred for my kind - "

"Hermione, no..."

"Don't even say anything right now, I could hex you into oblivion... I could actually kill you right now." She faltered slightly, her brain beginning to scramble. She... she had to ignore the warmth of his body and her own cowardice and just say it. "Because you don't even realize how good it felt to know you like that."

_Safe_ , Draco's mind echoed.  _Be safe..._

No. He didn't want to be safe anymore. If he had wanted to stay safe, he should have never been brought into this world, because there was no such thing as safety, no such thing as security. Life threw at you what it wanted, and you did what you had to do to keep afloat.

Draco pushed down the warning and cleared his mind before he could chicken out. She was about to say something else, and he could see it, in her face, that she was about to admit it to. Maybe he was imagining things again, or maybe he was bringing his own fantasy to the real world to mix what was real and what wasn't... but he was tired of having to be sure.

All at once, Draco pushed her wand out of the way and wrapped her in a fierce hug.

She must have died, for everything she had been trying to push down filled every cell in her body. Her fingertips tingled as she reached to grip his back.

His hands were suddenly on either side of her face, rubbing the tears that had escaped over her skin.

"Don't," she mumbled, tears falling, as he held her so close she was sure he could feel her rushing heart. Her body rejoiced as she felt the individual indentations in his fingertips rub against her cheeks; they were so clearly the same ones that had rubbed the drying blood off her battered skin on a night that felt so far away, on a night where he'd healed her. She wanted to hit him, beat him with tired fists over and over until she had no fight left in her; she wanted to make him understand what she felt every time he was close to her, every time he did something that surprised her and made her feel whole.

Draco brought his face down to hers; his lips traced from her eyes to her jaw, and he unconsciously let his mind detach itself from his body. Before he knew it, he was as blind as she, trying to absorb her soul and everything she was feeling into himself.

Finally, he kissed her mouth, tasting every one of her emotions mixed with the apple she had been eating.

She broke away, knowing that her head was beating like a drum and willing it to stop. "I... I can't do this."

"Kiss now, talk later," he whispered, closing the distance between them again.

He backed them away from the tree, knowing that she was using him for support; his hands gripped her waist, feeling her skin as her shirt rode up. She tentatively kissed him back, pushing her body against his.

Seconds later, her hands weakly pushed against his chest, enough to let him know that she wanted to stop. Draco brought his mind back to reality.

"I'm serious," she mumbled, though her low voice and heavy breathing said otherwise.

He released her, taking a step back. What was happening? He thought that she felt the same way! "Why?"

Hermione shook her head, feeling the loss of connection immediately and not needing to see him to know that he was wearing a distinctly hurt expression. "I already feel guilty enough."

"... Is this about Potter and Weasley?"

She nodded.

Draco ran a hand through his hair, anger starting to boil in his heart. "That night, that time... please tell me that what just happened was not a spur of the moment thing for you."

Hermione shook her head quickly. "It wasn't, not at all."

"Then what is the problem?"

She turned her head away from his hurt tone. No matter what happened, she  _was_  going to hurt someone. "I don't know. It's just... they already think the worst about us traveling alone together - "

Draco scoffed, circling. After a second, he turned back to face her again, his voice the epitome of control. "If they already think that, then once again, what is the problem?"

Hermione sighed. "You're right. There is no problem. But it doesn't make it any less difficult."

He nodded, sarcastic, not willing to acknowledge the moment that was now ruined. He turned around and picked their wands up from among the leaves.

"If you feel guilty, then maybe this isn't the best idea," he muttered, opening her fingers and closing them around her wand.

"Wha - what is that supposed to mean?"

"Nora made me an offer, and I told her no. She asked me to release you to the Ministry, in exchange for a lighter Azkaban sentence."

Hermione froze. Nora would make him such an offer? She did have some control over the Wizengamot, but the only thing she could do here was plead in his defense, and even then there was still a chance that he'd serve a maximum sentence for every crime he ever committed. All of that could easily amount to life imprisonment, without bail for at least 15 years.

Then again, it was definitely a better deal than facing death if they did not succeed, or life in Azkaban without possibility of bail if he waited until they did succeed. In fact, only a madman would pointedly reject such an offer.

"You... you chose me over a future?"

Whatever he had been about to say dissipated. Instead, he replied, "I chose to have you with me now, to have your company now. I chose to be selfish."

Hermione shook her head. "You basically sacrificed the happiness of the rest of your existence for my  _company_. You didn't say love - you said company... I'm not worth such a thing."

"Don't say that," he said, stepping toward her, his heart starting to race. "You are worth it."

Despite the fact that they had only moments before kissed, Hermione still blushed at his words.

Draco was too afraid to try to hug her again, try to touch her again like that. Every impulsive fiber in his body had left, leaving a grounded shell that wondered even at the words he was speaking. "That's why I wanted to keep you to myself a bit longer - you are completely worth it." He watched her expression.

"You've... you're so different than I thought, it's maddening... I just... It's weird."

"Fine," Draco said, his emotional mask reforming a bit to allow him to heal from the abrupt stop to the romantic moment.

The opportunity for heavy admissions was escaping, and she knew it, so before he got more than a few feet away Hermione blurted out, "I feel the same way - I'd rather stay with you than go back."

He stopped, his expression wavering. She walked forward tentatively, reaching out with her senses and her mind to find him.

_:Do you feel this?:_  she asked, and stepped into his personal space.

She shared her memories, memories of how her body reacted when he was close. He could feel her emotions as if they were his own - she was overheating, feeling a million sensations at once. Her heartbeat crescendoed in his head.

"That's what you feel for me?" he asked uncertainly.

"Yes."

"Then... what else is there?"

Hermione closed her eyes, trying desperately to create the image of him in her head, desperately to attach the Draco Malfoy she remembered to the complicated boy standing in front of her. She couldn't do it - she couldn't even think about the past, think about Hogwarts, Harry, or Ron. "There is nothing else."

He nodded, trying to keep his emotions in, keep them smothered; he wanted to jump up and down, wanted to release his built up energy. Instead, he smoothed down her bunched up sleeves, looking at her squarely.

"I do not think of you as a muggleborn; I think of you as Hermione. Please understand."

She nodded, her apology for her ranting radiating off her. "I understand."

" _Wingardium leviosa_...  _evanesco_... I think this is yours."

Hermione smiled as her fingers enclosed around the apple, as clean and smooth as it had been before she'd dropped it.


	23. Don't Touch the Alarm

_"We're never so vulnerable than when we trust someone - but paradoxically, if we cannot trust, neither can we find love or joy." - Walter Anderson_

* * *

Harry sat back in his chair, watching the scenes playing out on the wall in front of him.

There was something to be said for the power of a projector versus going into the memories themselves; he had almost forgotten the mystery of watching things on a two dimensional surface.

It was there. It definitely  _was_  there.

The tension was almost tangible, despite the fact it came from a flat, moving picture. Even though it made his heart twist, he could not help but acknowledge the looks he gave her. Perhaps Malfoy was less careful with his expression since Hermione was blind, or perhaps Hermione did not realize that even though  _she_  was blind, Malfoy was not. But whatever the case, it was definitely plain to anyone watching that there was some weird sexual tension between them.

Gradually the memories changed; they turned into memories that had belonged to Sasha Worthington. He cringed as Hermione, clad in dirty clothes and black sunglasses, smiled and gave a slight bow to Sasha as thanks. From his viewing point in the memories, it looked like she was bowing to him.

* * *

They traveled faster, apparating often and finding themselves in Sweden before long. Loki was her usual self, meowing and rubbing her head against Hermione's neck as she cuddled her; Draco had taken to carrying Hermione again, sometimes letting her ride on his back. He had to be careful to focus on his footsteps when they did this however, since he could distinctly feel her breasts on his shoulder blades and had to watch his hand placement on her legs to avoid touching something he shouldn't.

It was tempting, to be sure... but her thin hands grabbing the front of his shirt already had him preoccupied enough.

He did have to give himself a break; carrying her either way all the time made his back ache... among other things.

"We should be going south now," Draco said, looking towards the setting sun. "And then maybe hit civilization again."

Hermione nodded, placing Loki on the ground and removing what felt like loose cat fur from her shirt with a few brushes or her hand. The air was still cold, though luckily the jacket Sasha had packed for Hermione made this bearable. When they were in Scotland, she could barely sleep due to the wind ripping through her clothing, chilling her to her bones.

Draco started as the mobile rung from inside the bag. He rummaged around until he found it and flipped it open.

"Potter."

_"Malfoy. It's Ginny Weasley."_

Draco stared straight ahead, not knowing what to say.

_"Hello?"_

"Yes, Weaslette?"

_"I wanted to ask you something before I give the mobile to Nora."_

A tinge of fear sputtered in Draco's heart. If she was going to ask what he thought she was, he really did not want to hear it.

_"Please tell me that you are for real."_

Draco looked over at Hermione, whose head craned towards him.

"I... don't want to discuss this now, Weaslette."

_"Lookit, you prick. Just tell me if you are jerking her about, because I'd rather you tell me now then have me find out later."_

He looked at his feet. "I am being completely sincere."

_"Let's hope, for your sake. You may have convinced Harry, but the rest of us don't trust you for a second."_

"I'm... sorry to hear that."

_"Whatever, Malfoy. Here's Nora."_

Draco looked back at Hermione, and was startled by the smile she was sporting.

"What's so funny?"

She shook her head mirthfully. "They are so predictable."

_"Hello again, Draco. As you can imagine, I have some questions for you."_

"Fine."

_"Firstly, I was wondering what the Death Eaters specifically want with Hermione."_

"They wanted to kidnap her and use her for information about the Department of International Cooperation, The Order of the Phoenix, and Potter. Then maybe imperious her. At least, that's what we figured out." He left out a the part about the shipment of goods Frank Worthington sent them that is supposedly going to help with this.

There was silence as Nora took this down. _"Now I wanted to ask you specifically about your 'mission.' What are your exact intentions?"_

He shook his head, knowing that if he told her, she would start lecturing him about how ridiculous it all was and then would proposition him again. "We are going sneak into the Death Eater's base of operations and take out the leader. Then, we are going to destroy their communication mechanisms. Leave them blind, so to speak."

_"Have you drawn up your specific plan of attack? You don't have to give away the location - I'm just curious as to where your head is at."_

"We haven't drawn up the specifics," he replied shortly.

_"I thought not. In that case, I have an idea."_

"... Okay, shoot."

_"We will find a cure for Hermione's blindness. Noctulous, correct? We've taken a look at Jesse's research and we may be able to get something. We will then need to meet you somewhere to hand it off."_

"I'm not liking the sound of that, Constable."

_"I thought you wouldn't. Jesse has already told us that you were reluctant to accept her help. But you have to understand the importance of what you are attempting and how if anything goes wrong, it can end very badly. For you especially, and for the wizarding world."_

Hermione's hands found their way to his shoulders tentatively. "What's happening?"

Draco ignored his increased heart rate and turned his attention back on the phone. "Don't you think I realize that?"

_"I'm just saying. So I need you to try to work with us a little more closely."_

"Too bad."

There was silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds. Then, Nora quietly replied,  _"I don't need you to trust me - I need you to trust the cause. And that is not very hard to do."_

Draco lowered his arm as Hermione felt around for the phone. He handed the mobile to her.

"Nora? Please understand how difficult this is for him."

_"I understand perfectly. Trusting people hasn't ever gotten him very far - I was the same way. But there comes a time where you have to put what you feel aside and do what is right. We're all trying that even by going along with his scheme."_

"I don't agree with getting more people involved, but I will try to talk to him."

_"I'll call back later then."_

"Yes. Thank you."

Hermione closed the phone, letting her other hand linger on Draco's back.

"Don't," he said, not moving. "I don't want to hear it."

"I know," she murmured. "Just think about it."

The understanding was there. With Hermione, there was no lecturing anymore, no meaningless words and psychobabble designed to wear him thin. It was just her body and her mind, just knowing.

"You're amazing," he said suddenly.

She braced herself against his back. "I'm what?"

Draco shook his head, wondering if he'd gone insane. He walked toward Loki and picked her up. "We should get moving again."

* * *

After settling down for the night, Draco approached Hermione about their mission. If they had any chance of getting all of this over with, they needed to begin moving in a positive direction. He was feeling really good, actually - Hermione was slowly sapping away his sadness, just draining it out of him like poison draining from a snakebite. Draco moved so the root under their blanket wasn't digging into his backside.

"Canada?  _That's_  where they are?"

"It's hard to believe, yes... which is why it is the perfect place."

"Canada is enormous - what city is it near?"

"Calgary, to the west. It's not that close to Calgary, but... close enough for the city to be a landmark for it. They've hidden the magic aura with the mountains and forests along the major highway up there. It's basically Yukon wilderness for miles, save for a few small resting areas every so often and a sparse collection of towns."

Hermione nodded slowly. She found it hard to believe that the Death Eaters could have relocated in such a seemingly random place. "So how are we getting there? What is a safe distance for a drop point?"

Draco looked down. This was the hard part to comprehend. "Really, the only safe place is somewhere in the United States. That bit of land they own next to Canada, or the mainland."

" _That far?_ "

"I wouldn't say it if I wasn't serious."

Hermione shook her head, processing this. So they had to get across the world, passing through numerous countries and territories, just to get to some spot not even close to the actual location?

"We'll have to fly. It's the fastest and safest way."

"... Fly?"

"As in, get in an airplane and fly there."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "If those flying cans are anything like brooms, I think I'll take my chances with a portkey."

"They're nothing like brooms - they are just like giant, flying buses."

Draco's experience riding the Knight Bus was not a good one; he hoped it was a smoother ride than that. "And... how long will this muggle flying can method take?"

"Days, probably. Just flying to America takes 12 hours at least, depending on where we land. That doesn't count getting from there to Canada, if we fly to Canada. Not to mention the fact that we have serious research to do, research that cannot be done in Swedish forests."

Yes, he knew what she was talking about; wizards thought they had it so bad with filling out a form to get a registered portkey. Muggles went through a lot more paperwork, paid a lot more money, and had a lengthier trip. He wondered briefly how they managed. "So we need muggle documents and such. I doubt a Confundus Charm could get us all the way through."

Hermione smiled slyly. "Well, it could, especially since we need to make this quick... but we still need to know where we are going, what flight to take, and maybe some passports - not to mention the ticket information - "

He covered his ears. "I have no idea what you are on about - 'flights' and 'passports' and tickets - "

"Harry will know. I should ask him."

Draco shook his head. She was trying to open the discussion and he wouldn't allow it. "We are alone in this - there is no guarantee that he won't get the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to conjure up a few Aurors for him to send away and have a look around... no. We will just have to wing it."

"But - we need information, we need destinations and - is there even an airport near here?"

"Air-port?"

Hermione closed her eyes. Doing this the muggle way was going to be a lot more trouble than the magical way, in the end. "How about this... we take a portkey to some big city down south. We find an airport there."

"You still haven't told me what an air-port is."

"From there, we'll cross the sea in an airplane... I bet no flight goes all the way to the other end of Canada, so we'll probably drop off in the United States somewhere... and then from there go to Canada? Maybe Washington, then... what cities are on the west side? Los Angeles maybe. But there is bound to be more airports along the way, and then we'll take a flight from there to Canada, or that bit of American land next to it... maybe someone will give us a ride to our destination, or we could steal - excuse me, borrow - a muggle car to take us close enough where we can walk into the mountains."

Draco was silent for a few seconds, surprised by how quickly she had spun a plan, before he broke out into an evil smirk. "You know, I had always thought you were really bookish and swotty, but now I find... your problem-solving side is really sexy."

Hermione's blush reached into her hairline; defensively, she retorted in a haughty, albeit slightly wavering, tone. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Malfoy."

"Hmm... call me Mr. Malfoy again."

"Mr. Malfoy?" she said uncertainly.

Draco reached out and brushed her fringe away from her forehead. "Yes, definitely very sexy."

"You… make it really hard to concentrate when you turn the charm on full force," she said dryly.

"Ah," he murmured, his hand now tracing a line down her frame. "I do that."

" _Anyway_... If we find a flight going to Washington then we're set for the rest of -  _blimey_..."

"We are done talking about this," he said, his hand leaving her leg and cupping her face again. "I want to do this properly, before I stop myself." His amused tone was gone, replaced by the very real and very sober Draco that had hugged her so fiercely before.

"Do what, exactly?"

"You know." He was leaning towards her, backing her up against the tree they were reclining under. Hermione reached out with her mind uncertainly.

: _I thought we'd talk about this before we made anything final.:_  It was a mouse-like request that she didn't feel in her heart, he knew, but he didn't blame her for the need to say it.

Draco came back to reality, feeling his heart fill with something like assurance. "I agreed to no such thing. Besides," he drew closer, his excitement brewing, "nothing has to be final, or talked about... nothing has to matter. This can just be two people giving in, two people just going with it."

Hermione nodded, already overcome by the brilliance of it, his proximity, and the knowledge of what was coming. "Fast and loose, no heartbreak or commitment or seriousness..."

"Just this," he whispered against her cheek, and moved the short distance to her lips.


	24. Through the Dark

_"Silence is the safest course for any man to adopt who distrusts himself." - François de la Rochefoucauld_

* * *

Hermione had, against her will, been thinking about a lot for the better part of the night.

It seemed like only yesterday she had been trying to steady her breathing next to him every night on the Worthington's futon, under that large, fluffy comforter; his smell was still fresh in her memory, as was her embarrassing conversation with Harry.

But she had also been suffocating for weeks; his indifference and rudeness had fatigued her to the point of exhaustion. She could still vaguely hear the sound of his laugh when he'd made fun of her. And then suddenly, her airways had been unblocked by the very source of her choking!

So after Draco had kissed her, only hours before... she'd had the bizarre urge to throttle him.

It was too violent a thought to go without analysis.

They had understood each other perfectly in that moment -  _fast and loose, no heartbreak or commitment or seriousness... nothing has to matter..._  but no. After she had thought about it thoroughly, she had concluded that just based on the way their feelings had come about... it was impossible.

They couldn't just snog and pretend that everything was normal between them.

"Are you still awake?" she asked aloud.

"Yes, actually," he whispered back. He was facing away from her.

Hermione attempted to choose her next words carefully, but knew that as soon as she let them fly she would regret them. "This is really weird still."

Draco sighed. "Yeah. I'm rushing you, aren't I?"

She'd had that problem with Viktor, actually - for a while he had been content to just watch her study, or play with her hair while she read a book... but when he'd begun trying to kiss her, or do something of that sort, she'd always pushed him away. It had definitely annoyed him after a while. "No, it's not that. That kind of stuff is hard for me, I'm not experienced. I'm sorry if I sound like a prude."

His serious tone turned warm. "That's... not at all what you sound like, or what I was talking about. I meant with us, not with... sex."

Hermione blushed. Why was she always the first one to jump to conclusions? "Right. Sorry."

There was silence for a few seconds. "Well, I do know a contraceptive charm - "

" _No_ ," Hermione huffed, a little annoyed at herself. She had walked  _right_  into that one, and she knew it. "I can't even wrap my head around you sometimes, let alone my... legs."

"Merlin, Hermione - you should really learn not to talk like that." She could hear his smirk.

"Oh, shut it," she said, squirming on the blanket so their backs were no longer touching. The charmer in him was coming back, and she really didn't want a repeat of earlier to further confuse her thoughts.

* * *

The area became more densely populated as they travelled further south, so they were not able to apparate hundreds of miles at a time as they were before. They were formally in Sweden before long, passing the occasional Swedish town as the landscape softened. Draco followed a road from a distance until they ended up in a town he couldn't pronounce the name of. They were in dire need of supplies; Hermione's skin was starting to fade to grey and their stomachs rumbled constantly.

"Here," he said, placing the sunglasses in Hermione's hands. "We're going into town to get some more food. How are your wounds doing?"

Hermione felt her chest. The scabs had begun to flake off, revealing pink, mending flesh. It still remained to be seen how bad her scars were turning out; when she passed her fingers over the skin, it was slightly raised. "They're fine - nearly there."

He nodded, deciding that now was not a good time to lift her shirt to check them, and picked Loki from off the ground. Loki was now the most cumbersome of their cargo; it was easy to forget about such a docile, self-sufficient animal.

He handed Loki off to Hermione and began to search for an eatery. Unfortunately, it was not as easy a search as he had hoped; most of the eateries were crowded with muggles.  _That_  was a confrontation he really wanted to skip; they both looked like they had been in the woods for days and he did not want to advertise this fact.

After almost two hours of searching, Hermione became restless, and her usual defense mechanism - latch onto his arm and ask questions - surfaced quickly. "Didn't Sasha give us some muggle money? Surely you've seen something by now."

"Yes, but we look a right mess - people are already staring."

"Well, lets clean off our clothes then."

Draco rolled his eyes and walked Hermione behind a store, setting the bag against a dumpster. Using his wand, he tried to suck the dirt off of Hermione's clothes, and then his own. It was not likely that they could take full showers here, though they needed some; they had run into quite a few water spots during their week in Sweden but hadn't found anything substantial enough to soak in.

"All better," he mumbled, pocketing his wand. "If we eat somewhere muggle then you're going to have to take care of the money bit."

"Wait..." Hermione said suddenly. "We were given euros."

"... Okay, so what's your point?"

"I... I don't know if we can use it in Sweden. I never have."

"... You mean the muggle money?"

She nodded.

This was another yet another weird thing about muggles - they hadn't figured out that  _one_  currency, used literally everywhere, was the better way to do business.

"I mean, Sweden is part of the EU, but... they use something else here. Krona."

Draco shook his head, pushing down all the questions that had just surfaced in his mind. "You worry too much. If we can't pay then we'll use a Confundus Charm."

Hermione grimaced and allowed herself to be led out of the alley. Draco, besides not being able to read many of the signs, was worried about attracting too much attention, so the task was to find somewhere they could go unnoticed. He eventually found an eatery a ways down the street that looked popular and big enough to take international customers but slow enough to not attract any unwanted attention. Draco pushed the door open and led them inside.

"Can we pay with this?" Draco asked, and held up the muggle notes.

The hostess, who had brilliant auburn hair and a happy-go-lucky demeanor, faltered. " _Jog förstår inte..._ "

"English tourists?  _Ursäkta mig_ , Erika. Follow me." A tall, thin waitress ushered them past the confused girl and to a table.

"My name is Kajsa - it is a pleasure to meet you. Would you like me to get a basket for the cat?" It seemed that she spoke nearly perfect English, save for the noticeable gaps between syllables and words that should not be spaced apart.

Draco looked over at Loki, who was eyeing the silverware on the table with interest. "Um... actually, she's very obedient. But if it is required, then yes."

"Very well. I will ask the manager if we take euros; if you need any other assistance, let me know."

Draco nodded and turned to Hermione. The sunglasses that had once fit her face rather well were now sliding down her nose a bit - it seemed like she was thinning out from the lack of non-magical food, all the walking, and the stress of running from dark wizards.

"Alight, Hermione. You've been avoiding me all week."

Hermione turned her head away and set Loki next to her in the booth. "No I haven't."

"Yes, you have."

"It's kind of hard to avoid someone you're with every second of every day."

Draco shook his head. "If you believe that, then you're not nearly as smart as I thought."

There was silence as Draco looked at the pictures in the menu. Swedish eateries were new to him, let alone muggle ones; the only hope he had to take his mind off of Hermione and try to figure out what to get was to pick out the prettiest looking dish and stick with that.

 _:I'm not trying to avoid you,:_  Hermione began, her thoughts clouding his brain like smoke. : _It's so hard to feel comfortable around someone you used to dislike, someone who made you feel bad. Someone you... now want so much.:_

Draco had a hard time repressing his thoughts after such a comment; for a moment, they rang loud and clear in his head, displayed as a neon indicator of his emotions. Hermione's sincere aura tinged with green hope and a little pink embarrassment.

Draco calmly pushed her out of his head and opened his eyes.

"Draco?" she asked, her voice quivering. It was the same voice he'd felt in his head.

"It's hard for me too," he responded, the foreign words in forest green print in front of his vision blurring. He set down the menu. "I wanted this, us just being, so much. But it's still… kind of painful."

"This shouldn't be painful... it should make you happy." She paused. "But you don't know if it is real yet."

Draco nodded, then followed with "Yes," since she couldn't see. Once again, she understood perfectly.

Hermione closed her black eyes. : _I'm sorry about avoiding you.:_

_:I know.:_

He missed this - feeling that green sunshine that was her mind. He could wrap himself in it no matter how he was feeling.

The only problem... was that he was still being safe.

He knew this - there were times when he was feeling impulsive enough to "just go for it" - just go and make the decision that led to what he wanted on the surface.  _Make me light and happy in this moment, and fuck the consequences._  But most of the time, he felt like he had to test the waters. A million  _what if_ s constantly harassed him, making him want to backpedal and distance himself - even just run away.

But he'd chosen this - he'd chosen her over numerous other optimal choices, because he knew that in the end, he would regret wasting the opportunity just to  _know_. He would regret not having her around.

He'd regret the possibilities.

Who'd want this? Fools wanted this, and he liked to think that while he wasn't the sharpest licorice snap, he wasn't a fool. But... if he had to drown, which is what he was doing - he'd drown any day in that green sunshine.

Draco started when he realized that the connection was still open. He was too surprised to be angry - plus Hermione's mental grin could have blinded a basilisk.

 _:Our feelings are completely matched, aren't they?:_  she boldly asked.

_:Yes.:_

"... Have you decided what you'll be having to drink?"

Draco came back to reality to discover a slightly intimidated Kajsa standing in front of their booth with a small leather notepad. She had probably been standing there for a bit, not wanting to cut through the thick air surrounding them.

"Hermione, what would you like to drink?" he asked the woman sitting across from him, more to get her attention than to be polite.

"Oh... um, lemonade if you have it."

"Yes. And for you, sir?"

"Pumpkin juice." Hermione tensed up across from him. "I mean… I'll have what she's having."

"Okay. I spoke to the manager, and he is not willing to except the euros - but I have made my own arrangements for you. I hope this is okay." She was wearing a sad smile now, along with that kindly look that Sasha Worthington had always seemed to have when she asked him how he was doing.

"Thank you," Draco said, making eye contact.

When Kajsa left to retrieve the drinks, it hit him.

_She cares. They just care - the lot of them._

These muggles they kept running into were actually just good people!

There was no chance of the discussion starting again after having been interrupted at such a sensitive point, so Draco resigned himself to watching Hermione stroke Loki absently. No doubt the subject would be broached later, most likely sometime after darkness had fallen over the sky. It was in that silence, his brain muddled by fatigue from the days activities, that he could speak without reserve.

* * *

"Holy fucking shit."

"Ron, this isn't Gryffindor Tower. Mind your mouth."

It was a rare thing to have Harry Potter scold anyone for use of foul language (given his history of glamorous bouts of irrational anger) but Ron was too out of it to notice. "I know... just... holy fucking shit."

Admittedly the footage - from Harry's own memory - of the day they battled with the Death Eaters in the Worthington's living room was very... undeniable, and the icing on the cake to all the other evidence.

Harry ran a hand through his hair and put his wand back in his pants. He turned to the others around them. "Do you all agree that this evidence proves our theory?"

Kingsley nodded, watching the memories in the pensieve glitter. "It looks pretty real to me."

Harry glanced at Ron - he really did look like a fish with his mouth open like that - and kicked him under the table. Now was not the time for his friend to start breaking apart again.

"I have a different theory," said the matronly witch across from Harry. She stood up to address the table.

"If you all remember, a few things were stolen from the Department of Mysteries a month ago. Spellbooks were taken from the Hall of Growth, as well as an uncharted prophecy from the Hall of Prophecy." The group nodded. "What if this ploy to capture Hermione Granger - a muggleborn girl who besides her knowledge of internal affairs in the Department of International Magical Cooperation - which many other capable wizards have - does not stand out as a target - "

"You forget, Matilda, that one, Hermione Granger is a very close friend of Harry Potter, and two, what it means for her to be a muggleborn - which you have already stated."

"That is not the point, Nora - the point is that this  _ploy_  - this supposed mission to capture her could actually be  _put in place_ to distract us from the real issue. And that is: what on  _earth_  could the Death Eaters want with a prophecy and research material from the Hall of Growth? I think we should be focusing on that instead of the dynamics between a fugitive and a kidnapped muggleborn."

Ron's face began to redden.

"It could be linked," a man put forth. He stood up. "Think about it. If the prophecy was uncharted, it could be about anyone and anything. And the spellbooks that were taken were specific to research about the origin of magical properties in the human race. Perhaps - if they are still the prejudiced bunch they are known to be - "

" - Prejudice isn't a sin, Marty."

"Think that if you want to. My work in the Department of Mysteries is far too valuable to be in the hands of... racist pricks who'll misinterpret everything and use it to fuel whatever dark dreams they have!"

"Alright, that's enough," Nora said fiercely. "This meeting was not called to address theories on what the Death Eaters are up to. Most of you were brought here  _specifically_  for your connections within the Wizengamot - yes, I said it. No good deeds go unpunished but  _some_  good deeds deserve the softer side of the whip." She stood up. "Now, does everyone agree that Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger are indeed working together and that Hermione Granger is  _not_ being held against her will?"

Harry looked around the table - there were a few reluctant nods.

"This is important. If and when the Death Eaters go down, it is important to let the entire magical community know that it is a  _good thing_  to come forward with information, and a  _good thing_  to trust the Ministry's guidance. This way we prevent more rogue bludgers like Malfoy and others I could mention." Nora gave Harry a look. His days running from both the Ministry and the Death Eaters were not forgotten. "Draco Malfoy will be made an example of - so that it will be easier to round up the remaining support for the Death Eaters. You all understand politics. This is the way things work."

She turned her attention to the man sitting on her left. "As you know, we're placing a mole in the Death Eaters. He will slowly infiltrate the core of their operations and can soon provide us with information on this big plan they are conjuring. Based on this, you know that finding out  _what_  they are up to is our highest priority. So Jules, I will need your help in giving everything - including this thing between Malfoy and Hermione Granger - the proper amount of news coverage in  _The Prophet_. No details of course - just the story."

Jules fidgeted under her gaze. "I'll see what I can do. The public is fickle - they ignore what they grow tired of reading."

Nora faced the room again. "The Department of Magical Defense is counting on your support and cooperation. Don't let us down."

After everyone had dispersed silently, Harry sidestepped his chair and approached Nora.

"You scared the hell out of everyone."

She shrugged. "Sometimes you just need things to be done a certain way... and fear is a good motivator. Oh... and Ron, I'm sorry we didn't show this to you earlier. You do know your part in this, right? Harry told you."

Ron nodded tiredly. His dull eyes and skin reflected his state of mind. "I have to play nicely and help Harry."

Nora smiled. "As much as you can. Just... try not to dwell on the personal side of this. This is bigger."

"It doesn't feel bigger," he muttered.

"It will..." she replied, gathering up her notes. "Very soon, I fear."


	25. The Danger in Starting a Fire

_"Do not wait for life. Do not long for it. Be aware, always and at every moment, that the miracle is in the here and now." ~Marcel Proust_

* * *

Draco watched Hermione as she finished off her lemonade, noting the small slurp that sounded as she sucked a bit of air through the straw. She moved the drink away slowly, trying to hide her pink cheeks at the sound. He smiled a bit.

"How was everything?" he asked.

Hermione folded her arms, shaking away her embarrassment. "You've spent too much time around muggles."

Draco nodded and looked down at his fingers. "I have."

"Everything was good. Thank you for asking." Hermione tentatively removed her hands from the table, wary of various sharp and or breakable objects that she could send spinning off of it. There was a noticeable change in Draco - in his manners, his emotions... his entire person.

And yet... he was exactly the same being, exactly the same entity that had taken on such a sad and sober tone on so many occasions, reflecting his suffering.

She had, while they were in school, always thought that he was extremely one dimensional. Now she knew that he was so much more complicated than that.

"You're a bad influence on me," he said, looking at her intently.

She shrugged. "I probably am. You used to be a mean, egotistical, ignorant prick."

It was amazing that she could say things like this to him now and he would be completely unaffected. "I still am mean, egotistical, and ignorant. Just maybe less of a prick." He paused. "Hermione, I need you to not trust this."

There was silence save for the sounds of clanking dishes and other happy customers... the world paying them no mind. Hermione leaned forward. "What do you mean?"

He shook his head. "We are matched - not only is it... some kind of chemistry..." he trailed off nervously, a twinge of doubt in his mind keeping him from speaking this with the boldness he wanted to. "It is also psychology. I need you to be prepared for the fact that... I'm going to disappoint you. I'm going to hurt you."

Hermione shook her head, wishing he would stop - even he should know that this was not the typical "good girl falls for the bad boy" scenario. "I thought none of that had to matter."

He stopped, looking at her saddening face.  _You are screwing it up. Just stop talking._  "You're right. But please... just keep that in mind. I tend to sabotage good things in my life."

Hermione detached herself from her body and rubbed her mind against his.  _:You will not sabotage this, whatever this is. I won't let you.:_

"Thank you for coming... here is your change. And good luck on your journey." Kajsa smiled at them and turned to wait another table. What had she meant by "journey"?

"Actually, Kajsa... we need another favor."

* * *

_Nora,_

_I have a theory on what the Death Eaters are up to. Perhaps the movement within the Ministry to root out persecution of and discrimination against muggleborns is not working as well as we thought._

_What time can we meet?_

_Harry_

* * *

Karlstad, she had said. There was an airport in Karlstad, one large enough for them to be fairly unnoticed. The flight would cost quite a bit of money - thousands of euros, especially on such short notice - and it would not even be a direct one. They'd have to stop a few times.

"Hang on a second... I'll look up flights from Karlstad." Kajsa went behind the counter to use the computer.

"Let me see the map of the world again." He took the map from Hermione and opened it to the western side of the United States and Canada.

Draco pointed to a black dot whispered to Hermione, "Anchorage. That is where I took the portkey to escape. Anchorage... Alaska."

"Alaska?"

"Yes. There is no way No Name would know that, though. It was an unregistered portkey, and Ministry offices there are a little less strict about those types of things."

Hermione thought for a second and then nodded. "Okay. Our destination is Anchorage, Alaska."

Kajsa stared at the screen. "You've got quite a few options. Any preferences?"

"Anything that does not stop in England."  _I'm not taking any chances._

After a few minutes of searching, Kajsa smiled. "I've found one from Karlstad to Copenhagen... change airplanes to get to Frankfurt. Change again to reach a city in the United States called Chicago. Then take another plane to Anchorage, Alaska. Anchorage International."

" ...We are going to get so effing lost."

Hermione shook her head and smiled behind her sunglasses. "You underestimate the system. We'll only have to go through security once, maybe twice - and airports are not nearly as confusing as they sound."

Draco shook his head and turned to Kajsa. "Okay, then that's fine. I'm going to really need you on this one, Hermione."

He trusted her. He trusted her judgment, her knowledge, and even her ability to guide them. Hermione bit down her smile. "Thank you, Kajsa. So what time does this flight leave?"

* * *

"Something has changed," Master muttered, setting down her glass and gazing directly at Rubinoff.

Rubinoff averted his eyes, knowing that if he did not do this his face was likely to melt off. "Nothing has changed, Master. They are still eluding capture."

"That's not what I meant."

Rubinoff's heart jolted, and a chill washed over him.

"You seem different, is all. This mission is taking a toll on you, and I was too wrapped up in my own selfish wants to see it. I apologize."

She was turning him about, as she often did; this roller-coaster confused him. Fatigue gripped him.

He stiffened as Master No Name rose fluidly from her armchair. "I'm going to tell you something that I've never told anyone, and I want you to listen."

She strode over to him, and Rubinoff could not help but let panic slip from behind his mental barrier. She let an actual smile into his mind, perhaps in an attempt to calm him; instead, it made him even more uneasy.

She stopped in front of him and studied his features individually, moving her eyes over his whole face before coming to a stop on his eyes.

"I'm going to fail, Jon."

Rubinoff shook his head slowly, the panic he had felt earlier turning into an extreme aversion to this statement. A little of the love he felt for his master bubbled to the surface of his mind.

"I'm overconfident. I'm mean. And our little group, famous though it is, still lacks the real skills to back up such a terrifying reputation. I've trained you well... most of you haven't studied this much since your days at Hogwarts. But it is not enough."

"I don't understand, Master..."

"Evil always loses, Jon. That is why I am not evil, why I have been trying to detach the Death Eaters from evil. But still the 'light' side fights against as if we are its opposite, when in reality we just have different means of accomplishing the same goal."

Rubinoff looked down, allowing himself to breathe a little. "What is this goal?"

No Name stopped, momentarily irked that the answer to this question wasn't blatantly obvious. She then let it go with a shake of her head. "Discrimination. Both sides want to root it out, essentially."

There was silence as Rubinoff tried desperately to find the truth in her statement.

"I hate mudbloods. I hate that they are given this gift, and can even use it better than real wizards. And yet, I hate that I hate them, because if I were to be completely honest... I am jealous that I can't appreciate it like they can. I hate muggles... but I just hate them because they aren't like us. All this hate is unproductive. In reality we should all live  _together,_  not hiding from each other, not hating each other."

"I... still don't understand how we are striving to eliminate discrimination. We all hate muggleborns and muggles."

No Name turned away from him and paced to a painting on the far wall. "We fear them because we don't understand them; we hate them because they are different. If we were to blindly unite with them, it still wouldn't be enough - there would be turmoil. War. Death. Our differences would still divide us. So then the solution... the only way to truly eliminate our discrimination, our differences, our fear, their fear... is for everyone to become the same."

And just like that, it clicked. The crates that they had been getting, filled with rare potion ingredients... the search for a high profile mudblood like Hermione Granger... the construction of the machine... he had known that his master had nearly succeeded in isolating the magical "gene," that small pebble that diverted the river to either magical or muggle, but he hadn't exactly been told why. Of course, such a thing probably had hundreds of useful applications, but the obvious one hadn't even occurred to him.

He saw the vision now. He saw endless queues of muggles and squibs, changing themselves so that their children may be given the gift of magic. He saw the publicity of it all, how Hermione Granger had been used in a grand experiment and how she would "see" how big everything really is... and would use her pull with Harry Potter and the Ministry to get the ball rolling with a little help from the Imperious Curse and blackmail threats. And then this thing would explode.

And in the process... they would still destroy the Ministry, the corrupt government that everybody had forgotten was the real cause of separation. They could sew distrust with the muggle governments and destroy them as well. They would even still have the means to break Harry Potter when the rug is suddenly pulled from under him.

And then, maybe muggles and wizards could live together peacefully once again, without the stark distinctions between light and dark.

"We could unite the world, under us."

Master nodded. "You see how big this could be. You see how much this could change everyone, change the world, change history. You see how much this could do." She paused. "But I will fail."

"How? Why?"

She looked back at him. "All of this depends on the will of one muggleborn girl." There was silence, and then she exploded. "SHIT!"

Rubinoff jumped, wondering what had happened.

"We've been doing this all wrong, haven't we?"

He involuntarily began to panic again. "This was perfect from the beginning, Master."

She glared playfully at him, though her eyes were still frozen. "You are so doughfaced, Jon! I need you to be serious and tell me what I  _don't_  want to hear."

He knew he was on the verge of tears at this point; she was impossible to read, even when she was ostensibly being open. "... Oh."

"It's okay. Nevermind. Do you have something to report?"

Jon Rubinoff shook his head to clear it and put up some semblance of a mask once again. "I think we've got a rat in our outfit."

Master nodded slowly. "Proof?"

"Just suspicion mostly."

She studied him, her mask back in place. "Find out for sure."

He nodded and walked out of the room into the dark hallway.

* * *

Hermione held Loki to her chest as she and Draco followed a highway. The information that Kajsa had given them was tucked in a pocket of the duffel bag, and they had three days to get to that airport.

Hermione reached up and felt the hair grips that Kajsa had given her to tame her hair. Usually Hermione didn't use them (because their small, wiry nature made them prime targets to be consumed by her hair) but since she hadn't given her hair a decent brushing since they were in Bergen and it had pretty much stayed in a french braid since then, she didn't really have a choice. Civilization required that flyaways be pinned down, especially when her clothes already looked like they'd been hauled out of the garbage.

Loki fidgeted a little, so Hermione had to go back to holding her with two hands.

"I don't know how the cat is going to come with us," Draco murmured, looking at the passing cars to their right. He moved them a little further away from the road so they could apparate.

The grassy areas became more numerous as they proceeded east; roads were visible now and again as Draco kept them somewhat hidden by distance and trees. Apparition went fairly smoothly; it seemed as though they were no longer in danger of being found by Death Eaters.

This made Hermione nervous, since Draco was less careful now and she could tell. She brushed these feelings aside however when she reminded herself that they would soon be across the world.

Abruptly Draco stopped and dropped the bag to the ground.

Hermione stopped as well. "Draco?"

He turned around and kissed her swiftly.

She let out a small gasp of surprise, dropping the cat, but tentatively felt her now free hands around his waist anyway; he could feel her heartbeat against him, quickening to a pace that was surely unsafe. As he deepened the kiss, dipping his tongue into her mouth, she gasped again.

Hermione stepped back away from him, turning her head away.

Draco's face fell. He had been hoping that the sudden affection would make the whole deal less awkward. "What's wrong?"

Hermione mumbled something incoherent.

"... What was that?"

"I said... Idon'tknowhowtosnog."

"You... don't know how to snog?"

" _Yes_."

"Alright, don't get mad... that's fine. Although you were doing fine the other day."

"I barely knew what I was doing then... and it doesn't help that I can't see you."

Draco shook his head. He knew it was hard for her to be physical with him in her state; even her habitual movements had become so careful, so calculated. Introducing a different way to move, a different way to interact, was difficult without visual clues. She had no idea where she could put her arms, or legs, or even lips, for there was the very real possibility that any moment she might reach out and jam her hand into a tree, or accidentally punch him in the face.

The shame from the dozens of possibilities of what could go wrong was already paralyzing her.

"If you're embarrassed... I mean, there's no one out here - "

"It's not that! It just has to be perfect, you know?" She shook her head. "Maybe I'm just overthinking it."

Draco shrugged. "I haven't snogged that many girls, Hermione, and I'm still confident about it."

"Well... you're you. I'm me."

"What does that mean?"

"Well," Hermione hugged her arms to herself. "I'm not the most desirable individual."

No - he was not about to let her get herself down about anything physical. Her discomfort was not about that, and he knew it. "You have the prettiest lips I've ever seen, Hermione." He stepped closer to her.

A blush was creeping over her cheeks - he could see it through the fingers now covering her face. Draco began to whisper, bringing his face close to her ear. "Your skin is so soft..."

She was definitely blushing now. "I'm not fishing for compliments..."

Draco's smirk dropped. He knew that Hermione didn't really care that much about the way she looked - there was definitely a basic need to want to appear beautiful, or attractive, but it did not consume her. It was more likely that her fear stemmed from her actions.

He couldn't truly be sure of this, however, without knowing what she was feeling.

Draco stood directly in front of her and detached his mind from his body to reach out to hers.

Immediately he could feel her longing for his touch, but it was drowned out easily by a sense of inadequacy, a fear of moving through the dark, and something like a yearning for acceptance. Her form was dim, flickering like a bulb.

He concentrated and flooded her body with his own feelings, as she had done to him not a fortnight or so ago; he spilled his desire for her, the pure joy of being open with her, and even his own nervousness. Her surprise wafted into him.

Her emotions warmed - he was actively engaging with her, actively deciding to trust her, and she was loving it. Even as he shared his feelings, a small part of him was screaming, telling him to hold back... but holding back was tiring, and he was sick of concentrating on that.

_:I know the lack of sight is very hard on you.:_

Draco pulled back to reality slightly so he could carefully guide her hands to either side of his neck. He let her feel the hills and valleys of his face, rubbing over his stubble, along his jawline, even pinching his nose. She seemed to relax, focusing on familiarizing herself with this surface.

"'My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun...'" he quoted softly. "'And yet, by heaven - '"

Hermione leaned in and kissed him fiercely, threading her fingers through his hair. Draco was immediately exhilarated; the smell of her skin - a mix of the forest, apples, and her natural body scent, reminding him strongly of coffee - filled his nose as he held her.

When she released him, a heated smile played at her lips. "Thank you, Draco."

"Of course," he breathed, touching his forehead to hers.


End file.
